The Arrow's Bride
by melicitysmoak
Summary: Beautiful, brilliant, and unlike most young noblewomen in those days, she had big dreams but felt trapped within walls of social norms, given in marriage to a man esteemed as a hero, a man she didn't love. He was a battle-scarred warrior with a dark past, pining for her since the day he laid eyes on her all those years ago. What will it take for true love to grow? (AU medieval fic)
1. Chapter 1: My Lord, My Lady

**The Arrow's Bride**

 **A/N: Happy Heart's Day, everyone! This Arrow/Olicity medieval fic is a Valentine treat from me to everyone that clicks on this story, especially those who have read anything else that I have written and published here. Thank you so much! Thank you for clicking on this story, and I hope you enjoy it on this special day of celebrating love and relationships. And if you would be so kind or inclined, do let me know what you think of this story. It's going to be only a two-part fic. Hearing from you would certainly motivate me to write and post the second part before the week ends.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Arrow nor its characters and plot. Those belong to the CW and DC.**

* * *

 **PART 1 - My Lord, My Lady**

Felicity dreaded this moment.

She despised it more than the day of her beloved father's accidental passing during the annual hunting trip of the lords and barons. She loathed it more than that wintery night when her mother broke the news of her impending marriage to the king on the first day of spring just a few months after they'd buried her father, Lord Smoak of Vegas. It had been the last resort that Lady Smoak had desperately taken to secure their social status, their land, and their future.

She stood in front of the huge, old oak door with her lady-in-waiting behind her as her mother held the large iron ring and rapped on the wood to announce their arrival at the bridegroom's chambers. The former Lady Smoak was elated that her daughter had been wed to the most gallant knight in the whole realm, the son of the Baron of Starling. It was her daughter's best chance for an even more secure future. But Felicity felt trapped. She couldn't even breathe. She felt like she it was better for her to be strangled where she stood or to suffocate, before the door to a lifetime of misery opened and she'd have to go through it unwillingly.

Even the dreary winter weather outside the stone walls of the castle sympathized with her. The harsh, cold winds blew fiercely and beat against the wooden shutters that had been firmly closed shut for the night, foreboding a snowy season ahead.

* * *

Felicity had nothing against the man she had been obliged to marry. Sir Oliver was a handsome and brave man, respected by the nobles and the king's hosts, admired by the ladies of the court, and well-loved by commoners and peasants alike. Nevertheless, Felicity was a fair young maiden with a brilliant mind and extraordinary abilities that were unique to most young women in the entire realm. She had had dreams for herself – dreams that will never come to pass now that she was becoming someone's wife far too soon for her liking, and worse, that someone was a man she did not really know, did not love. She had already accepted her rank and lot in life the day her mother wed the king of Arrowland. She understood that she may never have the freedom to choose who to marry, but she had never thought that she would have to marry under such demeaning, condescending circumstances.

The king and his subjects owed Sir Oliver and his band of skilled archers a debt of gratitude. Sir Oliver and his men had rescued the kingdom from the month-long siege of King Malcom's castle-fort by the monstrous mountain people that had taken advantage of the kingdom's vulnerability soon after the last of the strongest and ablest knights had gone to reinforce the fast-depleting armies that the king had already dispatched in droves over the last five years to participate in taking back the Holy Land from the Moors. No one had expected it. Generations of kings in Arrowland had only read from the sages' scrolls about the existence of this savage race of barbarians who were rumored to have survived the Dark Ages hundreds of years ago. King Malcolm had never even seen a single barbarian cross the northern walls that his great, great, great grandfather had built.

One week after the last of the king's troops had left, the barbarians had breached a portion of the wall in the Valley of Bones. By the second week, the enemy had advanced to the castle-fort in Mt. Merlyn where the inhabitants of King's City had retreated to and sought refuge in. A week into the siege, King Malcolm had already seen what lay ahead. Their puny army of older and retired knights and armed peasants did not stand a chance against the ruthless barbarians that had already ravaged and pillaged the northern villages, and it was only a matter of time before the castle-fort fell into the hands of the enemy. So, the king sent out riders who had committed to memory the royal message of their kingdom's desperate cry for help to any of his gallant knights scattered in the far-flung eastern lands.

How the riders had managed to sneak out of the castle-fort unnoticed by the mountain warriors was a feat short-lived. One of the riders had been caught, tortured, and killed when he had refused to reveal anything. The other had been pursued as far as the borders of the realm and then speared to death while still mounted upon his steed. The last of the riders had been shot with an arrow in the shoulder but narrowly escaped his pursuers and reached the Great Lake where Sir Oliver and his men had just disembarked from a fishing boat that had brought them closer to home. The rider had stayed alive long enough to relay King Malcolm's message – a plea for the remaining brave knights of Arrowland to abandon the Crusades and swiftly return to deliver their homeland from the onslaught of the vicious barbarians.

* * *

Felicity had been the prize for accomplishing this feat, together with the conferring of the right to be listed among the prestigious lords and barons of the realm from which the successor of King Malcom would be selected (since Sir Thomas, Prince of Arrowland and fellow knight and best friend of Sir Oliver, had perished in the Crusades three years ago, leaving the king without an heir). Having been promised as a bride to the knight that would defeat the invading army of mountain people had been beyond Felicity's control, and the savior of her people deserved no less than the best and fairest lady of the land. Felicity understood this. She really did. But it did not mean that she liked the idea.

As any lady of the court whose lot in life and love was determined more by social status rather than the dictates of the heart, Felicity had convinced herself that she could learn to love any decent man, or at the very least, live with him civilly, especially if he bestowed the freedom to take up some, if not all, of her aspirations in life in peaceful solitude. But no one had even asked her if she was willing to do it, not even her mother. She had not even been given time to get to know the man in whose bed she would yield her virginity and be initiated into complete womanhood, the husband with whom she would be expected to produce an offspring – and a possible heir to the crown. The king had wasted no time; less than a month after the defeat and retreat of the enemy and as soon as a semblance of order had returned to the land, the wedding rituals and traditional preparations had commenced. Felicity had become some hero's reward, and she had no choice in it. That was what she detested the most.

So, she stood there with an expression on her face that reflected her silent protest, as a dark-skinned man opened the door to the bridegroom's chambers.

* * *

The colored man was almost as tall as the wooden door. He had huge, muscular arms the size of tree trunks. Felicity had seen this man a few times before, following Sir Oliver wherever he went like a living, breathing protective shadow. The man was also present in the wedding ceremony and in the feast that followed. What piqued her curiosity was that the dark-skinned man appeared to be more than Sir Oliver's armor bearer or escort – judging by his demeanor and the unfamiliar sabre with a curved blade hanging on his right side. She had never known of any colored man to have been allowed to be a knight's squire in all of the Western kingdoms.

She didn't dare look into the eyes of the Moor as he bowed and stepped back to allow her and her small entourage entrance. It was because of a mixture of timidity and respect, not fear, really. There was actually something about this man that calmed and humbled her, and she had feeling that they could be good friends, given the chance. He did not seem to belong there at all, and that inability to fit in was something that they both had in common. In more ways than one, they were different from everybody else in the realm, and that made her feel a little less of an outcast and a misfit for a brief moment.

"Thank you, John. That is all for now. I shall not call on you until morning," a voice in the shadows said.

The Moor bowed, did a gesture with his hand that Felicity found strange, and then stepped out of the room walking backwards until he was nowhere to be seen. The man had been called by a Christian name, she noticed, so Felicity inferred that the dark-skinned foreigner might have been a convert from the Crusades that had returned with the knights from the East.

Felicity's eyes scanned the dark room and she spotted the source of the low, somber voice sitting regally on a beautifully carved wooden chair in a corner of the room farthest from the fireplace. A large matrimonial bed occupied the wide space that separated them.

As soon as the door was shut, the former Lady Smoak spoke with a clear and confident voice, "Sir Oliver, Lord of Starling, and champion of the kingdom of Arrowland, it is my humble privilege to present to you the daughter of the Queen, the Lady Felicity, your bride."

Upon hearing the Queen speak his name and address him in a most flamboyant manner, Oliver immediately arose from his seat, somewhat startled that the Queen herself had accompanied his bride to his chambers, a custom reserved only to royal-born princes and princesses on their wedding night. He cleared his throat and replied, "My Queen, you honor me with your unexpected but delightful presence."

"Likewise," the Queen responded with a smile and a twinkle in her eye. "And please, Lord Oliver, you need not get on your feet on account of me. You will need to reserve your strength for the night." A mischievous snicker (quite unbecoming of a queen) escaped her lips, and Oliver caught a glimpse of his bride's blushing cheeks in response to her mother's inappropriate innuendo.

A brief moment of quiet awkwardness passed, and as soon as everyone in the room regained composure, the queen spoke again, this time more tactfully. "Once again, we are grateful for what you have done for our people, Lord Oliver. The king and I hope that you are pleased with your reward."

Felicity kept silent and stood her ground, even if butterflies in her stomach had begun to flutter once again. She felt (more than saw) his gaze upon her, making her feel even more self-conscious than she had already been the moment she stepped into his private domain. She avoided his gaze and looked down. The queen cleared her throat softly behind her, prompting her daughter to dispense the proper greeting her husband deserved.

Felicity lifted her head and curtsied in the manner expected of nobility. "Good evening, my lord," she spoke with all the confidence she could muster and with the courtesy that she had been trained all her life to master.

"Good evening, Lady Felicity. Welcome to my chambers," Sir Oliver acknowledged her. "I trust… that all is well with you?"

"Yes, my lord," Felicity replied curtly. She knew it was a lie, and she had a feeling that he somehow knew it, too.

Before the queen and the lady-in-waiting (better known to Felicity as her friend Lyla) took leave, they divested the bride of the woolen evening cloak that kept her warm from the winter air and set it aside on a chair nearest the door. The queen kissed her daughter's hand, ran her fingers from her cheek down to her chin and smiled. She then walked away and left the room. Lyla closed the large door behind them, leaving the newlyweds alone in the dimly-lit bedroom, which was one of the sleeping chambers in the eastern wing of the castle that were reserved for the king's special guests. Aside from the muted, crackling noise from the fireplace and the howling winds outside that caused the shutters to clatter intermittently, there was just silence between them in the spacious room.

* * *

Felicity could hear the wild beating of her heart, though. This was it.

During the procession down the long hallways of the castle from her own bedchamber to her groom's, she had tried to condition herself repeatedly that this will all be over in a few minutes, just like her mother had been telling her for days. The hero of Arrowland would be satisfied (she hoped, for her own sake), and she would retreat in tears to her own place in the morning a different woman, having fulfilled her royal and spousal duties at the expense of her own happiness. But now, any conditioning of the mind seemed futile, as the seconds of dead silence stretched to minutes when neither one of them spoke or moved.

She stared at the four-poster matrimonial bed with mixed emotions of nervousness, uncertainty, and emptiness. The canopy draped over the bed elegantly, she thought. She'd only ever see them on four-poster beds in the castle on special occasions, mostly during winter when everyone, not just guests, needed to stay warm. The curtains were ready, just waiting to be unfastened from the posts to provide the privacy they needed if they called for their respective attendants to come in. She only wished she had similar coverings that would envelop her heart and conceal the hurt she was bound to feel once she gave of herself to a man she didn't love, no matter how noble and kind he turned out to be. He was the hero of Arrowland, one of the possible successors to the throne, and he was her lawfully wedded husband. She knew what was expected of her, and she would do it. She would give him her body, but not her soul. That belonged to no one, for she had not yet found the one person whom she would willingly surrender her heart.

* * *

Unbeknownst to her, Oliver felt just as nervous and uncertain while he waited for her arrival. John, his friend and brother-at-arms since he had spared the Moor's life from a cruel white man's sword, had provided him the companionship that calmed his nerves. He could not hide from his friend the anxious enthusiasm that exuded from his usually steadfast heart. As soon as his bride had entered his chamber, the pounding of his heart increased in speed and intensity, that he found it absolutely necessary to stay seated in the corner of the room, so that the shadows could conceal the emotions that were written all over his face and were reverberating within his body. He wondered how one little woman could soften and melt the hardened, battle-scarred heart of a seasoned warrior like himself. He felt it strange, and so did John.

Oliver had seen Felicity for the first time during the wedding of King Malcolm to Lady Smoak. He and his parents, Robert and Moira, Baron and Baroness of Starling, and his little sister Thea, had traveled from their manor to attend the occasion, which had been the most lavish and most auspicious of gatherings and festivities that the king had held in the castle ever since his first wife Queen Rebecca had died of an unknown disease when Prince Thomas, his best friend, had barely been twelve. News of the untimely death of Lord Smoak had circulated in the kingdom a few years after, and King Malcolm had very soon set his eyes on making the widowed Lady Smoak his new queen.

Oliver recalls the first time he had laid eyes on Felicity at the throne room, where the bishop had officiated the ceremony uniting the king with her mother. She had worn a white long-sleeved gown made of fine linen and a deep purple woolen tunic embroidered with colorful flowers along the neckline and the hems. Her hair had been covered and wrapped entirely in a wimple that framed her lovely, pretty face. She had worn an ornate headdress that was much too big for a young lade her age, and that came in the shape of something he couldn't exactly recall. No, not as much as he recalled the sapphire blue hue of her captivating eyes, and the dimple that showed when she so much as slightly smiled.

He had observed her every movement that day – every expression on her angelic face, how she laughed at the court jester's antics and smiled contentedly at the music of the minstrels that blew their pipes and tapped their timbrels. Thomas had danced with her that night at the wedding banquet, and though Oliver hadn't had the courage to ask her to dance with him despite the fact that he had been the only member of the male species that remained sober in the great hall, he had contented himself watching her. He had been smitten by this beautiful and sweet thirteen-year-old, no doubt about it. Thomas had teased him constantly about his cowardice and unrequited feelings for his step-sister, and had called him a cradle-snatcher for setting his eyes on a girl much younger than either of them, and who was none other than his step-sister. Oliver didn't know how to express his growing affections during their entire week of stay in the castle, mainly because he considered her much too young to be wooed at the time by a squire such as himself that was already being groomed for knighthood. He and his family had returned to Starling Manor, and still Felicity did not have the faintest idea that she had won the young nobleman's heart.

Oliver pined for her for almost two years, taking advantage of every opportunity to accompany his parents to the castle on official business just to see her. He would catch glimpses of her during their meals with the king and queen, or when he would spy on her walking in the early morning or late afternoons in the castle's moat gardens with her lady-in-waiting following close by. The first time he had seen her sitting alone under a tree reading a book had also been the first time he had seen her long, golden hair; he had almost approached her to reveal how he truly felt about her, but reason prevailed over emotion. The young lady he had affections for had been blossoming into a beautiful lady, and soon, he would be ready to speak to his parents about expressing to the king and queen his sincere and formal intent to court their daughter.

But then the new Bishop of Rome had issued one final plea to all of Christendom to wage a holy war against the Moors and recapture Jerusalem, and King Malcolm responded eagerly to that call in the hopes of winning the good graces of the new Pope. The king had sent his own son with some of his best knights and warriors, but in less than a year, they had received word of the tragic demise of the prince. Upon learning of the death of his closest friend at the hands of the Muslims, Oliver volunteered to join the next batch of knights and raiders dispatched to the Holy Land so that he could somehow avenge the murder of Thomas. Oliver buried his affections for the love of his life in the deepest recesses of his heart, hoping that heaven would grant him mercy and grace and return him to his homeland a victor, or at the very least, a survivor. He promised himself that if she was still unmarried by the time he returns, then he would know for sure that he and Felicity were truly meant to be together, and he would waste no time to ask the king for her hand in marriage.

But it had been five years since. Five long, very difficult years of fierce fighting and agonizing suffering. She had been the only thing that had kept him going, the only reason left to fight for. And when all hope of success had vanished in him and his men, she had been the only reason left for him to survive and come home.

Would he still be able to woo her after all this time? Would she have him willingly? Now that he had the blood of countless human beings in his hands? Now that his body was covered in scar tissue and his back had been branded with the mark of a slave after he had been captured and sold, and then crafted by Arab assassins as a weapon to kill and destroy? What would sweet, innocent Felicity think of him now?

It had only been through a miracle that he had escaped and began the arduous and dangerous trek home. Along the way, he had rescued a group of prisoners that had been captured by the Moors and were about to be sold to traveling Arab merchants. Because the men owed him their lives, they had pledged their allegiance to him. They persuaded him to be their leader and for them to travel with him back to his homeland. During the year and a half from the time he left Palestine until his return to Arrowland, his band of archers and warriors had grown to fifty fighting men who knew how to skillfully wield swords of various kinds and whom he had also trained to be archers. He had trained them further, the way he had been forcibly trained by the Arab assassins to fight.

The last person he had saved from certain death was John the Moor, who had been disowned by his family and threatened with death for forsaking the Islamic faith. John had sworn an oath to protect Oliver for the rest of his life, and had pleaded that they take him with them back to his country.

When Oliver and his men disembarked from the boat in the pier of the Great Lake beyond the borders of the Moorish lands, the wounded rider from Arrowland had just arrived. Jumping off his horse and then limping towards them, the man asked in between gasps of air who they were, where they had come from, and where they were going. Oliver revealed his identity to the dying messenger, who had been overjoyed to hear that he was not going to die in vain.

When Oliver learned about the attack of the barbarians from the mountains of the north and the siege of King Malcolm's castle-fort, he spoke to his men and asked for their help. He told them that this was not really their battle, but that if they were willing to fight alongside him, they would be released from their life-debts to him, and he would personally obtain from the king their right to live as free men in his realm regardless of their ethnicity. Every single one of his men gave his support to fight with him and rescue his people.

And rescue his people they did. Fifty men plus two – and plenty of strategic battle planning – were all it took for them to take down their leader, trim down the army of the barbarians to more than half, and then drive out the demoralized invaders from Arrowland and back to the mountains where they belonged.

If Oliver were asked, he would have done the same thing for his people without the receiving the reward that King Malcolm had promised to give him as soon as the battle had been won. However, no power on earth would prevail against him to refuse it. He would never refuse _her_. When the king told him that he was giving the queen's daughter to him for a bride because of the heroic feat he had accomplished, he had been overwhelmed and overcome with inexpressible joy and disbelief. Heaven had granted his prayers, half-spoken and half-groaned during many a night in his time away trying desperately to stay alive. He was awed by the reality of grace and mercy, astonished at why God would favor and lavishly bless a poor, undeserving wretch like him with what he considered most precious of all in life – the bride of his dreams.

* * *

Right then and there in his own bedchamber, Felicity stood before him, and he still couldn't believe it. She was his for the taking. But he wasn't sure what to do.

His battle-worn hands were trembling, and he wondered if her silky soft ones were, too. He had noticed how wonderfully soothing her hands had felt in his, earlier that day during the ceremony that ushered them into a sacred union as man and wife. He had dreamed of holding her hand for many, many years, and when he finally did, he hadn't wanted to let go. But they had social obligations and wedding traditions to fulfill all day long, so he had let go of her hand after the recessional to give her time to prepare for the wedding banquet that normally began in the late afternoon and lasted way past midnight (in other words, until the merrymakers ran out of wine and fell over drunk in the great hall).

After the main meal was done, the newlyweds traditionally were excused from the banquet to spend time alone in the bridegroom's chambers where they would consummate their marriage. Expectations were high, especially among nobles and royals, as the bridegroom's family and the wedding guests continued to eat, drink, and be merry while they await evidence of the breaking of the bride's chastity.

Oliver understood the significance of their wedding night. He loved her, and he knew for sure that he wanted her. But did she feel the same way about him? They had been acquaintances before he left for the Crusades, and yet since his return and up to this point, she had given him no clear indication that she had even a tinge of affection for him. They had had several personal encounters between the retaking of the castle-fort and the wedding ceremony, but still she showed nothing but civil, polite behavior and the impeccable manners fit for nobility. He figured that because she struck him as a submissive, dutiful daughter and an honorable lady of the court, she would follow through with what was expected of her with head held high, no matter how much it crushed her heart to marry someone like him.

The last thing Oliver wanted was for her tender, fragile heart to be shattered to a million pieces. And not on account of him. He did not want to force himself upon her at the expense of her happiness and dignity. He did not want their first night, her first experience of intimacy to be meaningless and empty, or worse, laced with bitterness and regret that will forever be etched in their memories. He loved her too much to hurt her this way. He loved her too much for him to think of his own needs and disregard hers. He loved her too much to take advantage of his privilege as her legitimate husband in this way.

* * *

"I hope…" Oliver began to speak. "I hope that you are not afraid of me?" he asked graciously, intending to calm any anxiety in her.

"No, my lord," Felicity replied, her eyes still directed to the wooden floor. She then looked up and asked intuitively, "Should I be?"

Her concise question was pregnant with meaning, and so was his answer.

"No, my lady," he answered, his voice reassuring yet sincere and sure. "I would never hurt you."

Wordlessly, Felicity bravely took several steps forward, showing him that she was giving him the benefit of the doubt. But then she stopped halfway between them, indicating that she wanted him to meet her the rest of the way to show his sincerity. She had not realized that she now stood between the bed and the fireplace. She was just a few feet away from where he was seated now, and the reddish orange glow of firelight allowed him to see her quite clearly, to relish her physical beauty and natural charm. She was absolutely beautiful and positively breath-taking!

Without a wimple or a veil, he could behold her long and wavy golden hair, which was braided loosely from the right side of her neck down to her waist. He could actually smell the talcum powder that gave her face, neck, arms, and bare feet an ethereal glow that heightened his senses. Without a woolen cloak or tunic, her long evening gown was not doing a very good job of hiding her alluring frame. The finely-woven linen somehow clung to her body like silk from the Far East that he had seen in his travels, concealing in vain the captivating outlines of her hips and lower limbs, as well as the undulating curves and peaks of her bosom. He could see _her_ up close now, and he realized that the best of his imaginations did not come close to what he beheld before him. Felicity had grown into a woman in the five years that he had been far away, and now that she was his, he was overwhelmed that his bride was beyond delightful. She was perfectly, unarguably desirable.

Felicity brought one hand up and across her chest to pull up the one side of the neckline of her gown that had fallen off her shoulder, revealing the creamy white skin that glistened in the firelight, in plain view of her groom. She looked at him and saw an intense expression in his darkened eyes that made her breath hitch. When her shoulder was no longer bare, she did not bring her hand back down to her side. Instead, in her shyness, she clutched the material and kept her arm on her chest in an attempt to somehow shield herself from the ardor of his stare. The gesture, coupled by a deep breath she had taken, had broken Oliver out of his stupor. Embarrassed with himself, he dropped his gaze, closed his eyes, and swallowed hard.

She did not know what to make of this. It was an awkward moment between them. She did feel uncomfortable and self-conscious; that much was certain. But she was also curious as to what her husband must be thinking… about her. Yes, she wasn't very happy about the hastily arranged marriage and the pressure of expectations on their wedding night, but she also didn't want to fail. She'd never failed in her entire life, and on the one hand, this would be her first time to do so – to fail herself in fighting for control over her own life; on the other hand, you could still succeed at something – to please her husband, the defender of the land who had risked his life for thousands of their kind.

Felicity thought that what she had seen in his eyes might have been what her mother had taught her to recognize in a man. There had been passion and desire there a moment ago. But when she shifted her gaze from the arm on her chest to his eyes once again, what she saw in them was something else. Was it disappointment? Was it displeasure? She wanted to know.

To her dismay, Oliver dropped his gaze and close his eyes, his brow slightly furrowed. She had to know.

"Do you not find me pleasing, my lord?" Felicity spoke at last. Her simple, softly spoken question commanded his attention once more.

Oliver opened his eyes and immediately looked up at her. Far from it, he thought. He was not going to allow her to give room for insecurities and doubts about what she means to him, about what it that she does to him. So he answered with a reassuring tone, "Forgive me, my lady. I didn't mean to scorn nor to spurn. On the contrary, I do find you most attractive. In all my life… I have never laid eyes on a creature more beautiful than you on this side of heaven."

There. The words just tumbled out of his lips on their own. They were the truth, and he wanted her to know it. Nevertheless, he had surprised not only her but also himself at his lengthy and enthused response. Since he left for the Crusade, he had never uttered more than a sentence at a time, even in excitement, except now. He wondered what spell this blonde beauty might have cast on him to evoke such a response in him in her presence.

The blush on Felicity's neck crept upwards through her neck and cheeks until her entire face flushed pinkish-red. She had absolutely no feelings for this man she had wed; nevertheless, she did feel flattered knowing that she could have such a powerful effect on him.

Oliver didn't want to embarrass her any further, or else her pretty face would turn as red as an overripe tomato, so he stood up and walked towards her. As he entered her personal space, Felicity took another deep breath to steady herself. Because now that he had completely stepped out of the shadows, she could very well see that pair of ocean blue eyes again, the same ones that stared somberly at her during the wedding ceremony, the ones that seemed to draw her in and welcome her into his soul, the ones that she had spurned when she decided to fix her own eyes on their joined hands until the end of the wedding rites.

Felicity thought he was going to reach for her hand, as he drew near. But he just walked right past her, their fingers brushing against each other's as he did. Oliver kept walking, but she did not move a muscle or turn around to look at where he was going. She stabilized her breathing and waited for what he was going to do or say next.

* * *

Since the time when they were formally introduced as each other's betrothed, Felicity had learned a few things about the man she was going to wed. First, stories of his exploits in the Crusades, which his band of archers had begun to circulate in the castle grounds, and the accounts of how he and his men had driven the barbarians back to the mountains, proved that he was a very courageous warrior and competent strategist. She liked that about him because she not only cared about the safety and welfare of their people, she also saw in it a tinge of hope that there just might be a meeting of minds of some sort between him and her. Observing his conduct, he struck her as a very private, serious, and broody man, and this she found boring and unappealing. Oliver hardly smiled at anyone.

Anyone, except her. At first, she had thought that perhaps it was his way of just reaching out to her for the simple reason that they were soon to become man and wife. But now that he had just cracked a tiny, timid smile while enthusiastically and earnestly complimenting her physical endowments, she began to think that maybe her husband did admire her sincerely to a certain degree.

While she mused, Oliver moved furtively and quietly, retrieving her cloak and coming up just a hand span behind her without her noticing him at all. (She would later add to her short list of Sir Oliver's observable traits one more thing – that he was undoubtedly a master of stealth.)

"You're shivering," he whispered near her right ear. He was right, but she hadn't noticed it at all.

Felicity felt the gush of his warm breath tickle the skin just behind her. She gasped and turned slightly over her right shoulder. She could have sworn that she caught him attempting but hesitating to plant his lips on the exposed skin of the crook between her neck and shoulder. She bit her lower lip to keep herself from saying anything she might regret, as she was quite well-known in the castle for her uncontrollable rambling whenever she is nervous or excited. (At that moment, she wasn't exactly sure which one of the two she felt.) Felicity closed her eyes in anticipation of what was going to happen next.

She felt him lift her woolen cloak with both his hands and drape it over her shoulders. He then pulled the left and right edges of the cloak towards her front, situating her slender figure in between his sturdy, muscular arms. The warmth of his body enveloped her, and she didn't know what to make of how being wrapped up in his arms felt. (She'd have to deal with that later during one of her soulful reflections, because, although the feeling was strange to her, it was strangely pleasant and soothing.) They stayed that way for a few more seconds, until Oliver was sure she was warm and her shivering had stopped, and then he came around to stand in front of her.

Oliver took both her icy cold hands in his warm and calloused ones, and then said to her ever so tenderly, "Lady Felicity, I am well aware that this… that our marriage… came about as a result of the will of the king. Whatever you think of me, please know that I am honored… and blessed… to have you as my wife. I pray that someday, you will be able to say the same thing about me… from your heart. The ceremonies, traditions, and the law of the land may have made this thing between us a _marriage_ , and we will have to live with that and make the best of it from this day forward. However, I would very much like for our _union_ to happen on _your_ terms."

One of his hands let go of hers and moved up to lift her chin with his forefinger. He wanted her undivided attention when he completed what he wanted to tell her. When he was sure that their eyes were locked on to each other's gaze, he cupped her cheek with his free hand and whispered to her, "Felicity…"

He rubbed the pad of his thumb on her face and went on to say, "I will wait for you to be ready. To be willing. Because aside from making sure that you will always be safe, there is nothing else in this world that I desire than for you to be happy."

Felicity was astonished at all his words. His words penetrated the core of her being, and they made her feel like he had known her deeply for a very long time. His words rendered her speechless; all she could do in response was to nod twice with glassy eyes and to favor him with a small smile. She made a mental note to add two more things to the list of her husband's traits: one, that Lord Oliver was the most honorable man she had ever met; and two, that he may just be the kind of man that she could learn to love.

* * *

When Oliver saw on her face that she had understood and accepted his words, he moved away. He took his quiver out of a large wooden chest and picked out the sharpest arrow in the cluster. He also took a bottle of wine from the table near the bed and poured some of it into a clean linen towel. He then proceeded to sanitize the arrowhead with it.

"What are you doing?" she asked him, puzzled. She clutched the edges of her cloak close to her chest and approached him out of curiosity.

"Giving the inebriated guests downstairs what they want. We wouldn't want to disappoint your mother and the king, would we?" Oliver answered confidently, trying to keep himself from breaking out into a full-blown grin.

Felicity immediately understood what he meant, although the prospect of having to inflict injury on himself wasn't something that she preferred he'd do to accomplish his intent. She winced as she watched him make a shallow cut on the palm of his hand using the arrowhead. She flinched at the sight of blood. For a second there, she thought she would faint, but suddenly Oliver's uninjured hand found its way onto her forearm to steady her.

"I'm fine, really," she told him, swallowing hard as she tried to compose herself once more.

With that, Oliver walked towards their matrimonial bed and stained the off-white sheets with just the right amount of blood as most inquisitive (and intrusive) people would expect (and inspect), as soon as he returns to the great hall with the blood-stained linen after waiting for another half hour. He seriously disliked norms and customs such as these, and he thought that if and when the opportunity to rule the land becomes his, he would promulgate certain laws that would supersede cultural traditions that did more harm than good.

Felicity picked up the bottle of wine and the towel he had used, went to him and poured some of the antiseptic beverage on his cut, and then bandaged it tight with the small towel to stop the bleeding. And this time, it was Felicity's turn to keep herself from breaking out into a full-blown smile.

* * *

 **A/N: Well, there it is! It would be nice to hear from you if you have the time to leave a review. Is this worth finishing at all?** **I was in the middle of finishing the next chapter of another on-going fic posted here that I'm working on, but the ideas for this medieval AU just wouldn't leave me alone! Inspiration struck, I decided to go with it, and the words just flowed. Maybe it's the occasion, maybe it's the hopeless romantic in me, I don't know.**

 **For those of you following Arrow historical war fic "Purple Heart, Red Cross, and Green Arrows," I promise I will finish the next chapter by weekend and post it as soon as possible. I am just as inspired to write that one as this (but I guess that one is harder to do with all the research and readings I have to do before and during writing). So please bear with me.**

 **Thanks again for reading this! Hope you enjoyed it.**

 **P.S. I just would like to clarify that although this is a medieval AU fic, it is not meant to be strictly historically accurate. It is merely set during those times. I have created my own "characters" instead of taking off from actual historical figures and events, my own geographical setting, and my own specific socio-cultural elements that still fit within the grand scheme of the Middle Ages, in general.**


	2. Chapter 2: My Friend, My Lover

**The Arrow's Bride**

* * *

 **A/N: Before anything else, I just want to thank the readers, followers, and reviewers of this latest fic of mine. I truly appreciate you clicking on this story. Special thanks to Keeper, whom I cannot reply to here.**

 **I know I said that this will only be a two-part medieval AU fic, but I sort of got a little carried away with this chapter and liked what came out of my inspired mind up until 4 a.m., so I changed my mind. I decided I will resolve half of the conflicts here (the internal ones) and the other half (the external plot conflicts) in the third and final chapter. I do hope you still enjoy this despite its length.**

 **Again, I do not own Arrow. I only wish I did.**

* * *

 **PART 2 - MY FRIEND, MY LOVER**

Oliver dreaded this moment.

He despised it more than the dreary autumn day when Starling Manor received word that his best friend, Sir Thomas, Prince of Arrowland, had perished in the hands of the Moors that had outnumbered him and his men. He and Thomas had just been knighted less than a year at the time when King Malcolm answered the call of the Pope to all of Christendom to wage one final war against the Moors and retake Jerusalem. The king had sent his own son with the first battle-ready contingent to please the Bishop of Rome and remain in the religious leader's good graces – an act that the king bitterly regretted later on when he lost his only heir. Not a day had gone by since that Oliver hadn't missed his best friend from childhood.

Oliver loathed this moment more than the winter morning a week after the barbaric invaders had been driven back to the mountains, when King Malcolm finally recounted to him how the heart of his father, the Baron of Starling, had given out right before the king's eyes when a squire, who had miraculously survived the ambush in Palestine, stormed the throne room of the castle and reported (mistakenly so) that Sir Oliver, the baron's only son, had been killed. A year later, as soon as the mourning period of the Queen family had elapsed, the High Council of Lords and Barons convened at the king's castle to select the replacement for the position and rank vacated by his father, so that Starling would continue to be represented in the king's court. But since Robert no longer had a male heir – so everyone had thought – the late baron's nephew, the son of his only sibling and a nobleman named Wilson (but better known in their parts with the moniker Slade), had been chosen by majority vote as Robert Queen's successor.

King Malcolm had not expected Sir Oliver to still be alive and had, in fact, been shocked to discover who the green-hooded archer that delivered Arrowland from the barbarians had turned out to be. As it was in the royal traditions and laws of the land, the Council's selection of Baron Wilson just a few years prior to Sir Oliver's unexpected return was irrevocable, and King Malcolm had expressed regret that Oliver's right by blood and birth to have been named Baron of Starling upon his father's death had been bypassed due to an erroneous report concerning his demise. The king did not have to find a way to circumvent the law in order to honor Robert Queen's legacy, however, because the reward that he had promised by official decree to the man who would save his people from the mountain savages had allowed Oliver to take his rightful place in the High Council, which was comprised by the privileged few from which the next king of Arrowland would be selected by vote, since King Malcolm had no legitimate heir. This had automatically elevated Sir Oliver to the title and rank of Lord and had given him equal opportunity as Baron Wilson to represent Starling at the Council, as well as equal right to be nominated and voted as the king's successor when the time comes.

Oliver paced incessantly in front of the huge, old oak door with the most loyal men of his band of archer-warriors. They stood with him not only in the front-lines of battle, but also in trying times like this when his fainting, anxious heart needed encouragement most. He had always been at his bravest in the face of formidable foes, calmest and most focused when strategizing a plan of attack. But when the safety and well-being of his wife, the Lady Felicity, was compromised or threatened, either his brazen boldness cracked and crumbled under pressure, melting in the heat of uncertainty, or his death-defying rage and reckless impulsiveness to exact vengeance on the person or persons responsible for endangering the ones he loved and cared about was unleashed. For his sake (and everyone's peace of mind), it was the lesser evil that the former was true of the urgent matter at hand.

Roy, Rene, and Rory kept silent and stayed in the peripheral vision of their usually staunch leader, wondering how much more the floorboards underneath his feet could take. They also did not want to aggravate the already tense situation that might cause Oliver to break, which was an unpleasant possibility that might become reality if the annoyingly incessant chattering of Curtis – the other Moor in their band who was the exact antithesis of their other colored friend John – did not cease.

None of them had had the chance to wash themselves or change into more comfortable apparel that consisted of regular hoses and tunics. Their swords were still hanging in the sheaths that hung on their sides by their waistbands, and their bows and empty quivers had been discarded by the wall outside the Lady Felicity's bedchamber. They were all still wearing their blood-stained armors, which they had put on two days ago, when they set out on the daring search, rescue, and recovery of Felicity from the evil clutches of Lord Oliver's treacherous enemies.

* * *

Oliver and his men had found Felicity just in time, and they had ridden fast and hard to get her back to the Queen Manor before she bled out. The men had placed her in Oliver's arms in a sturdy wagon with a reliable set of wheels, which was the only acceptable and safe mode of commute that they had found in haste just outside the stables of the Rochev Manor where they had rescued her. Curtis had climbed onto the wagon to assist him in making sure that Felicity remained conscious and lucid. With Rory's help, Rene had driven the horse-drawn wagon as fast yet as carefully as he could under the circumstances, while John and Roy had gone ahead to give the family physician and the servants of Queen Manor ample time to make the necessary preparations for the arrival of Oliver and his wife, who was in critical condition.

They did make it to the Manor, where Felicity was immediately attended to. She had been in tremendous pain, and her husband agonized with her, refusing to leave her side. It was only when the Baroness Moira and Felicity's handmaid Lyla convinced him that it was best for him to wait outside and leave them and the physician to do their work that he had acquiesced to retreat to the company of his men.

Unfortunately, the physician could only do so much. The stout and bearded old man had already given up, coming out of the room and giving Oliver the dreadful speech that there was nothing more he could do. It was an awful declaration that the Lord of Starling had found completely unacceptable. It had earned the poor man a significant bump in the back of his head after Oliver had picked him up by the neckline of his tunic and shoved him up against the wall, demanding with a voice like the growl of a full-grown grizzly that he go back inside and try harder. The pathetic old man would have done it, if he could. He had trembled in fear, reasoning in vain with Lord Oliver that physicians like him were not miracle-workers or wizards skilled in the art of magic, and had suggested that his lord consider calling for one immediately if he could not resign himself that his wife was bound to succumb to mortality. But Oliver would not have it, as turning to sorcery or wizardry was against everything he believed in and fought for in the Crusades.

Before the fear-stricken physician had the chance to faint or soil his breeches with liquid waste – rather, before Oliver had unintentionally killed the man in sheer anger and frustration – John had arrived with Yao Fei and Maseo, two of the archer-warriors that had returned from the East with them two years ago and aided the deliverance of the kingdom from the barbarians. (The two men from the Far East had parted ways with Sir Oliver's company of hooded warriors as soon as the king had issued the decree granting Sir Oliver's band of rescuers the liberty to live peacefully in the realm as free men, at the humble request of their leader.) The wise, dark-skinned convert had offered Oliver another way to save Lady Felicity's life without turning to dark magic. Nonetheless, it was an alternative absolutely unheard of in the Western kingdoms thus far, and an option that would surely put her life at risk, but at the same time give her a fighting chance. There had been no other way, just as the physician had declared, so Oliver had trusted his foreign friends and taken the only alternative available. He had not cared what his family and the other nobles would say; he didn't care if the Church misjudged him, branded him an infidel, or even excommunicated him. His beloved wife was in peril, and their future was at stake. There was no choice to make.

* * *

Oliver entered the Lady Felicity's chambers with John. His mother was seated beside his wife, who held her mother-in-law's hand in a death grip. At least three other more elderly female servants surrounded the Lady's bed, while a younger one was refilling a large metal basin with warm water. Lyla was crouched at the foot of the bed where Felicity's legs and feet were anchored.

As soon as the door entered, Moira turned to look at her son. Oliver had expected his mother to glare at him and send him away once more, but there was nothing on her face except fear. He understood that kind of fear in his mother's eyes, because it was the same kind he had been struggling with for the last few hours, the same kind that now threatened to cause his heartbeat to cease at the sight before him. The sheets bore gruesome evidence that his wife had bled profusely. Felicity was covered in sweat, from her head down to her feet. She writhed and thrashed in pain with whatever strength was left within her, calling out his name in between weakened cries of anguish. She no longer screamed like she used to since a half an hour ago, and it was clear to him that she was already tired and spent, ready to surrender to her cruel fate.

Moira nodded to her son once, beckoning him to come near. She stood up, allowing Oliver to take her place beside Felicity. By the door, he stripped himself of his breastplate and the other metal pieces of his armor. He drew nearer, grasped her hand, and kissed her damp forehead, whispering, "I'm here, my sweet love."

Felicity simply moaned, and even in her suffering, she managed a small smile that made him admire her inner strength even more. Then she closed her eyes again and chewed on her lower lip to keep herself from complaining about her plight in the presence of her husband.

The baroness chose that opportunity to look at his son in the eye and shake her head softly, a sad gesture that told him that even his mother thought there was no hope for his beloved bride.

Oliver refused to accept the hopelessness of the situation. He believed in God and had faith in his wife's strength and courage. He refused the craven's way, refused to give up without trying every possible solution, even if that solution was something completely foreign to him and unacceptable to many.

"My love, John is here. He says he can help," Oliver said softly to his wife. "Will you let him?" he implored.

Felicity's eyes fluttered open. Despite her heavy sighing, their dear friend's name escaped her quivering lips. "John…" She searched the room for their colored friend, and when she found him, she favored him with another weak albeit unmistakable smile.

"He brought Yao Fei and Maseo with him," Oliver added.

The mention of the foreign men's names caused Felicity's eyes to shift back to her husband's. Their gazes locked, and without a word they conversed through knowing looks. With his eyes, he told her that he wanted her to trust their friends just as much as he was willing to take this risk. He told her that he didn't want her to give up on life just yet, that he didn't want to lose her this way, that he loved her with everything that was in him. With her eyes, she told him that she trusted him and that she thanked him for giving her a choice on the matter – an issue that they had fought over, time and time again since the day they were married close to two years ago. With a squeeze of the hand, she told him that she was willing to take the chance, or die trying, because she loved him too much to let go of life… of _them_ … just like that.

Oliver got up and stood by her bedside without letting go of her hand. "I have to go now, and let them do what they must. I will be just outside the door, my love." He kissed her on the cheek, lingering a bit with his lips ghosting over her moist skin. "Felicity, you are not done fighting, and… I believe in you."

Felicity mouthed a soundless "I love you" and once again forced a smile to let him know how earnestly she felt for him.

* * *

I love you.

Not a day had gone by in the last eighteen months without Felicity saying those heartfelt words to her husband at least once before she closed her eyes to sleep. In their first six months as man and wife, she hadn't known if and when she would ever get to say them to him and mean them.

On their faux wedding night, the king and queen and their wedding guests had cheered and toasted to cupfuls of beer when Oliver marched into the great hall with the blood-stained linen sheet in his hand, reciting the customary declaration and prayer for the blessing of many strong, healthy offspring. After that he and Felicity had carried on in their best, most pretentious way of feigning companionship, marital bliss, and intimacy.

Their first month together had been spent in the castle because King Malcolm insisted he assist the king in reorganizing the knights and the royal army and getting them reacquainted with their ranks and responsibilities in the realm after the siege and the battle versus the barbarians. Thus, they had dined and spent leisure time with the king and queen every day and also appeared before the lords and ladies of the court from time to time. Whenever the king had inquired about how the newlyweds were adjusting to married life, Oliver answered for them in the most reassuring ways. To his credit, Oliver had never lied. He would tell the king how delighted he was to spend his mornings walking and conversing with his wife in the castle's moat gardens. He would tell the king how amused he was by her laughter and by the way she uttered the most endearing rambles whenever she was excited or unnerved about something. He would tell the king how much he admired her wit and intelligence, her inclination towards matters of the kingdom, and the insights she offered about how the difficult lives of people in their realm – including the peasants – can be alleviated.

Each and every time he had praised her before the crowned potentate of Arrowland and before any high or humble member of the king's staff, Felicity had blushed in embarrassment. But deep down inside her, she had basked in his palpably magnanimous compliments, realizing that he had been studying her all along, and not just since his return from the East. By the time they had left the castle to settle in Starling and go home to Queen Manor, she had realized that some of the things he had boasted about her to others had been drawn from memories of past encounters, prior to his departure for the Crusades. That was when she had begun to realize that he had held her in high esteem and that he may have actually had affections for her already even before the king had given him her hand in marriage.

It hadn't been just the king that had inquired into the state of the newlyweds' relationship and with whom Oliver had had the privilege of praising his wife's many virtues and comely traits. There was one instance when it had been the queen that had ventured inquisitively and asked about a more sensitive aspect of their relationship. During one of the evenings when traveling troubadours had stayed the night to entertain the royals and the members of the court, Queen Donna had leaned over on her side and engaged Oliver in an otherwise awkward conversation, had he not been prudently wise and ready to respond in the cleverest manner.

"Lord Oliver, forgive me if I err concerning a keen observation. But I perceive that neither the court jesters nor these fine foreign musicians have succeeded in offering you any kind of amusement that might draw your attention away from your lovely bride," Queen Donna had commented. She had obviously meant to tease, for she had added, "It seems my daughter now has you under some kind of spell, for all you ever do in her presence is stare."

"There is nothing to forgive, my queen," Oliver had replied. "I am afraid, you are not at all mistaken. The Lady Felicity has captured my heart and has it bound in the chains of her charms. She fills my days with sunshine and unspeakable joy."

"And your nights?" the queen asked candidly with a twinkle in her eye.

Oliver grinned and without hesitation answered, "Our nights have been more pleasurable than I expected, your majesty."

It was the truth. Though, not in the way the queen had pictured in her very imaginative and colorful mind.

* * *

Oliver and Felicity had agreed on the night of their wedding that he would send for her in the evening three times a week and that she would stay with him until morning when her lady in waiting would fetch her, so as to avoid the suspicion of castle staff and to avert such intrusions from her mother who often only meant well. Felicity would come in her evening gown and undergarments, which remained on her body until morning (something that only Lyla was privy to). Oliver would receive her into his bedchamber, excited for another evening to spend in the delightful company of the love of his life.

He would ask her to read to him a psalter, a devotional text, or a vernacular translation of a portion of the Holy Scriptures, which he had selected from the royal archives earlier that day. He had been impressed by how fluently she read various texts, but that had been nothing compared to how awestricken he had been when she started reading to him in Latin, which was the language that only the clergy were known to have mastered. He had discovered that she had always been fascinated by the language that she had only ever heard spoken during the liturgy in her childhood, and she had asked her friend, Friar Ray – a son of wealthy landowners whose lineage traced back to the early generations of missionaries from Rome known as the Palmers, to teach her secretly how to read and speak in Latin whenever she could get away and visit him in the abbey.

One time when she had finished reading to him his favorite excerpt from the New Testament text, she favored him with singing a portion of a Gregorian chant. The crackling sound from the fireplace had been her only background, but he had fallen more in love with his bride as she enthralled him with the simplistic beauty of her voice. When the last of the melismatic tones had faded out from his ears, he had asked her, "Have you just sung plainsong, my lady?"

Felicity had replied and smiled shyly, "Yes, my lord."

Oliver then had responded with furrowed brows, "But… but only the monks and the clergy can-"

She had cut him off and said, "Is that judgment I'm hearing?"

"No, pride," he answered. For indeed, his admiration of her had increased a hundred times in that instance.

"Felicity, you are remarkable," he had told her. To which she had replied with an adorable tilt of the head, "Thank you for remarking on it."

Oliver's remark had undoubtedly made its mark on her. His words had warmed her all over and made her heart flutter in her chest. That had been the moment when she first had an inkling that perhaps some fondness for her husband had already begun to take root in her heart.

After their second week of nightly activities – the exact nature of which, only John the Moor had knowledge of – Felicity had asked him if he did not mind reading to her as well. Oliver had immediately obliged her, not knowing that she had wanted him to read to her some rare romance narratives and chivalric tales from the early Middle Ages that she had stumbled upon in the royal archives. Soon enough, he had developed an appreciation for that kind of literature as well. Quite a few times, he had had to clear his throat while reading romantic scenes between a gallant knight and his damsel in distress, as Felicity's lovely face turned crimson each time he had caught her staring at him fondly.

After the usual readings, they would engage in a game of rhymes and riddles, which he had always lost, except on a couple of occasions when she had let him win. She had seen how hard he had tried, and understandably so, him being a man of fewer words than most. When they ran out of rhymes and riddles, they came up with their own game in which they shared what they liked or disliked most about a variety of trivial concerns. She would share and elaborate. He would tell what it was that he liked or disliked. Period. Stories of their childhood had also been exchanged until the wee hours of the morning. At first, it had been mostly Felicity that did the storytelling, but eventually, Oliver had become at ease with opening up about himself and his experiences growing up, and very scarcely, about his experiences in battle.

Unfortunately, he hadn't been ready to open up about the darkest time in his life when he was away fighting someone else's war in someone else's land and suffering unjustly for having joined that cause. Felicity had never pressed him to share more; she had figured that he would open up when he was ready. She had thought it only fair to give him the same space that he had given her to warm up to him as his wife. He had been willing to wait for her to be ready to give of herself completely to him as her husband, so she had given him the respect for privacy that he deserved but not demanded.

Their pleasant evenings together had continued even in Starling. The only differences were, first, that he had asked for her to come almost every night, and second, that she did not have to course down lengthy hallways from her chambers to his. Their bedchambers at the Queen Manor were adjacent to each other and were separated only by a door with a latch on both sides. Every night at their appointed time, Oliver would release John at about the same time that Felicity dismissed Lyla for the day. When Oliver hears his wife's bedroom door shut, he would give her a few minutes to get ready, and then he would unlatch his side of the door and call for her to come inside. A couple of months more had passed, and they had grown more comfortable with each other, enjoying each other's company a little bit more every day.

Indeed, it was no falsehood – what he had admitted to the queen about their nights. His bride had given her more pleasure than he ever thought was possible. When he had realized this, he had begun to wonder what pleasures awaited him when she let him touch her. When she let him in completely.

As for Felicity, the fondness that she had developed for her husband at about the same time they had gone home to Starling had also grown into delightful affections that had made her look forward to spending her nights with him, to the door between them opening each night. She had begun to wonder what delights awaited her when she let him touch her. When she let him in completely.

* * *

Felicity had had a foretaste of what it must be like sometime after she had been awakened by his noise in the middle of the night for the first time. Before that night, she had always fallen fast asleep before he had, so she had no idea that he struggled with sleeplessness and with horrible nightmares most nights. Back in the castle, she had been too far away from his bedchamber to hear his loudest outbursts, but from her bedchamber, she could hear his slightest whimper.

On that particularly difficult night, she had woken up to him crying out in fear and anguish, begging for someone to stop whatever it was that was being done to him in his dream. She had gotten out of bed, dashed to the adjoining door, and unlatched her side. She had expected that the door would put up a fight and she would have to bang on the solid piece of hardwood to get him to wake up from his nightmare. But no, she had been surprised to discover when she pushed the door that there had hardly been any resistance. His door had been unlatched.

His door had always been unlatched ever since. Just as his heart had always been when it came to her.

She had made her way into his room and rushed to his bedside, quite unsure of what she ought to do. She had tried saying his name several times, each time more loudly and more forcefully than the first, but it had been no use. She had also tried shaking him and then holding him down on his shoulders as he thrashed in his tumultuous sleep, but even that had not worked. But when she bent down and brought her face near to his, laid her hand on his damp forehead and calmly whispered, "I'm here, my lord. You are safe," his tossing and turning had gradually ceased. His breathing had gone back to normal, and his eyes stopped rolling underneath his eyelids.

The same thing had happened a few more times without him knowing how she would come to his aid. Each time, his side of the door had remained unlatched, and she had had easy access to his bedside. After a couple of weeks of consecutive nightmares, Felicity had decided that she would attempt a better solution.

On the night that a terrible bout of nightmares had happened again, she had done what she'd never thought she would be able to do for the man she had previously been asked to marry against her will. As soon as she had somewhat calmed him with her voice and a hand on his cheek, she had climbed onto his bed and lain down beside him, pressing the entire length of her body to his side. His sweat had seeped into her sleeping garment, but she hadn't cared. She even placed her arm on top of him, rubbing soothing circles on his bare chest with the tender palm of her hand. That night, she had fallen asleep embracing him, and it had felt both liberating and gratifying. She had gotten up and returned to her room before Oliver had risen at the crack of dawn without the slightest idea of what she had done for him.

That intimate moment had been a milestone for Felicity. It had set her on fire, igniting a passionate desire that she never thought she would ever hunger for, especially not in a predicament such as an arranged marriage. That had been the day when she finally admitted to herself that she had already developed feelings for this man that she had come to respect and care about. That had been the day when she had begun to wonder whether or not she had already learned to love.

Their days had been spent in companionable coexistence whenever they chanced upon each other in the Manor as he went about his daily duties as Lord of Starling, and their nights had still been devoted to their preferred mode of soulful bonding. But Felicity had found herself wanting to be as close to him as she could, as often as she could, because not only had she found comfort and solace in lying contentedly beside his sleeping form, his nightmares had also begun to occur far in between and he slept more lengthily and more peacefully with her by his side. She still would get up in the middle of most nights to attend to him even when the nightmares had stopped completely, and she would still lie down beside him to make sure they didn't come back. That had been how things had gone from day to day, night after night…

…until one early morning before dawn when Oliver had awakened with Felicity still lying beside him, sleeping soundly like a log.

* * *

Oliver had thought he was still dreaming when his eyes flitted open. He had been pleasantly surprised to find his wife lying close to his side. He had looked down and smiled upon seeing her hand on his chest, and one of her legs – bare skin exposed up to mid-thigh because her evening gown had ridden up in her sleep – on top of one of his. He had turned to look upon her beautiful face only to find that it had been covered in disheveled blonde hair. The sight had made him chuckle a little bit, but it had also heightened his senses and made him fully awake, causing him to feel not only her heartbeat, but also the pair of supple breasts that had brushed against his arm and his side when she shifted slightly beside him. He had stared at her, taking in all of her beauty and tenderness, for as long as he could before she awoke. And when she stirred, he had feigned sleep to see what she would do. Unaware that her undisclosed habit of lying with him at night had been exposed, Felicity had gotten up slowly and tiptoed back to her own room.

That incident had been a turning point for Oliver in his relationship with his bride prize. It had set him on fire, re-igniting a passionate desire to be one flesh with the woman he had loved for years. Yes, he had given her his word that he would wait for her to be ready for as long as it took, but ever since that moment, Oliver had begun to struggle. He had wondered how much longer he can keep his desires at bay, how much longer he can set aside his unmet need, how much longer his yearning will be denied. Knowing then how it had felt like for their bodies to be so close, and yet not letting himself have his way with her – it had begun to kill him softly.

Nonetheless, he had amazed himself at the kind of restraint that he had developed since he had met Felicity. That had been the day when he became absolutely sure that he truly loved this woman that he had married, for he had never known he was capable of such temperance – physically, emotionally, and rationally – until he had decided to keep himself pure inside and out for no one else but her.

* * *

No one else but her.

Had Oliver met Felicity earlier in his life, he would not have allowed himself to get entangled in flights of fancy with less worthy young women of the nobility that had flirted with him in the past. One such young woman had been Susan, daughter of the Lady Williams who had been widowed early in life. He had also been attracted to quite a number of worthy and fair maids. Among them was Helena, daughter of a wealthy wine merchant from the outskirts of Rome that had settled in Starling in the interest of trade and had planted a vineyard near Queen Manor. The young lady had been infatuated with him from the beginning, and Oliver, being the naughty and mischievous lad that he had been back then, had toyed with her emotions and then broke the girl's heart by letting her think that he had grown fond of her, only to spurn her in the end.

And then there had been Laurel and Sara, daughters of the Sheriff Lance of Starling, whose mother Dinah had introduced to him in one of the dances hosted by his mother Moira in the Manor. He had been infatuated with Laurel, but when he learned that his best friend Prince Thomas had already set his eyes on the brown-haired beauty, he had turned his frustrations on the younger Lance sibling, almost damaging the girl's reputation during a solitary moment of indiscretion when he had given in to lust. The Sheriff had caught them in the stables of the Manor just before his younger daughter had yielded her chastity to the adolescent Queen heir, and in a fit of rage had been ready to thrust his sword into the young man's heart. Sara had fallen down on her knees half-naked, and had pleaded with her father for mercy and pardon for their insolence, and to their relief, the Sheriff had relented. For the sake of his long-term friendship with the Baron of Starling, and the good and reputable names of both their families, the Sheriff had made Oliver swear never to come near his daughter again, or else the Sheriff would demand retribution that can only be paid for with his very life, shackles or gallows be damned. Oliver and the Sheriff had made a pact to take the secret of that dishonorable disgrace to their graves.

A few years after that, Oliver had laid eyes on Felicity for the first time at her mother's wedding to the king, and the rest was history. Only, the history of his heart had not ended with her.

After he had been wounded in an ambush by the Moors in Palestine, taken prisoner, and then sold to Arab traders, he had been carried away further east. He had managed to escape, albeit temporarily, for he had once again been captured by a clandestine group of Arabian assassins led by a man that was known to the nomadic peoples as the Demon's Head, a man by the name of Ra's al Ghul. He had survived their tortures and yielded to their methods of subjugation, molding him into a weapon of destruction capable of eliminating anyone who dared stand in his way or in the way of the league of assassins that he served. Yes, he had become a monster, and taking innocent and not-so-innocent lives at the command of a heathen master had crushed his conscience. For a time, Oliver had convinced himself that the league had wiped out any remnant of humanity left inside him.

Every once in a while, in his solitude, glimmers and sparks of hope would awaken in him at thoughts and memories of his beloved Felicity, and there had been nothing he had longed for more than to be able to go home and reveal the unrequited love he still had for her. However, the guilt and shame of his sins had hindered him from attempting anything in his power to flee and return home.

It had only been when Ra's al Ghul had revealed his intent to groom Oliver to take his place as the Demon's Head one day – and that the will of the league's leader would be sealed by giving Oliver his younger daughter Nyssa as his wife – that Oliver had found the courage to risk his life and attempt a dauntless escape to avoid this fate. He had loved Felicity with all his heart, and he would rather die than be married to anyone but her. He had succeeded with the help of Ra's al Ghul's older daughter Talia, who had wanted to be the league's next leader and believed that she was her father's rightful heir. Sadly, Talia had perished during the fight that ensued to secure Oliver's safe passage back to the West.

Sometime after that early morning when Oliver had awakened for the first time with his wife lying beside him in his bedchamber, the Baroness of Starling had held a banquet to celebrate the birthday of his long-lost son, Lord Oliver. In that banquet, Oliver's old flames and their families had been invited. Susan and Helena had been there, and so had the Lance sisters. Even the Lady Isabel of the House of the Rochevs, immigrants from a far country in the East, had been in attendance. Oliver had kept Felicity by his side not only to shield her from guests with malicious intent that mingled with those who remained loyal to their family. He had also wanted to shield himself from inappropriate advances that dishonorable ladies of noble rank like Susan and Helena might attempt. His contingent plan had failed, because not only had he not been able to dodge the flirtations of said audacious women, he had also failed to protect his precious wife from their effrontery and unabashed efforts at driving a wedge between the newlyweds.

Twice Felicity had flinched at her husband's touch, and by the time Susan was done retelling anecdotes of the misdemeanors of the drunken young Queen, Felicity had excused herself from the banquet and retreated to the garden to sulk in solitude. Never in her life had she felt so much jealousy, anger, resentment, and distrust all at the same time. She had been so green with envy that she blended in with the foliage. Why had she been so upset? Why hadn't he told her about his past relationships before? And why had it mattered this much to her now?

There had only been one answer. She had already learned to love him, and she finally acknowledged it.

That night Oliver had tried to reason with her that he had left that part of him in the past, but she rejected his explanations and had asked him to leave her be for the time being. So, he had asked John to keep a watchful eye on her from a distance as she walked in the garden alone to get a breath of fresh air and clear her mind.

The banquet had been over and the guests had gone, but the conflict between them had only worsened. From John's report, Oliver had learned that Felicity had been approached at the garden by the new Sheriff of Starling, a certain William Malone, to whom Quentin Lance had passed on the mantle of keeping the peace and order in Starling sometime when Oliver had been away in the Crusades. Oliver had not liked the news at all. In fact, upon further inquiry from his wife, he had learned that William, whom she fondly called Billy, had been a close childhood friend of hers, as the Malones had been very good family friends with the Smoaks until such time that Billy's family had moved to Starling sometime after Lord Smoak had died. Felicity had told him that Billy had been the one she would turn to for comfort when her father died, and that his moving away had been the second loss she had grieved over in that same year.

The emergence of Sheriff Malone in his wife's life had upset Oliver just as much as his former relationships had clearly upset her that evening. Never in his life had he felt so much jealousy, anger, resentment, and distrust all at the same time. He had been so green with envy that he blended in with his hooded archer's costume, and John and his band of green archer-warriors had taken notice during target practice the following day. Why had he been so upset? Why hadn't she told him about her best friend Billy before? And why had it mattered this much to him now?

There had only be one answer. He had loved her so much, and he had taken his vows seriously to the point that he had become even more than vigilant in protecting the sanctity of their union.

Except, they hadn't even consummated that union. That had aggravated his frustration and fueled his feelings of jealousy even more.

* * *

They had avoided each other for more than a week after the banquet incident. The adjoining door had stayed latched on both sides as they harbored ill feelings against each other. John, Lyla, and the servants of the Manor had attended to their needs separately, serving their meals at different times, accompanying them on their errands and preparing their modes of commute separately. Moira and Thea had tried to facilitate reconciliation to no avail…

…until they both had reached a point where they had missed each other so much that they couldn't stand not breathing the same air for one more miserable second.

One night, Oliver had been tossing and turning in his bed in the same manner that Felicity had been. She'd been crying, reprimanding herself for her childish behavior. He'd been berating himself for not being the kind of gentleman that would initiate reconciliation with the only woman he knew he couldn't live without. He had sprung from the bed and in a split-second, he had reached for the door that separated him from her. When he had unlatched it and pulled it open, he was startled to find Felicity already standing in front of him, her eyes red and swollen and her cheeks wet with tears.

"Felicity…"

"Oliver…"

They had uttered the other's name at the same time.

"My lady, please, do speak first," he had said.

Felicity had looked up and with quivering lips began to apologize. "I… I'm sorry. I really am. Forgive me, my lord, for my foolish conduct. I have displeased you with my jealous ways, my lord. I choose to believe you and I promise not to doubt your sincerity again."

"You were jealous?" Oliver had asked, the corners of his lips turning up to a smile.

She had simply nodded.

Oliver had taken two steps towards her. When he had bridged the small gap between them, he lifted her chin with his finger, just like he had gently done on their wedding night, and made her look him in the eye. As soon as he had gotten her attention, he had responded, "I forgive you, my lady. But I am indebted to you as well. I apologize. I, too, have allowed jealousy to come between us. I pray that you can find it in your sweet, sweet heart to forgive me, for I give you my word that it will never happen again."

"I do," Felicity had replied, reminiscing the vows they had exchanged at their wedding. But this time, she had not only meant to accept his offer of reconciliation; she had also meant that she was ready to commit to their relationship no matter what, because she had come to realize how much he had meant to him now.

"Pardon?" Oliver had asked.

"I do. I mean, I do forgive you," she had answered with a slightly louder voice. "And I do commit to spend the rest of my life with you, my lord… if you'll still have me."

Oliver had taken one final step forward until they were so close they could practically hear their heartbeats. He reached for her and cupped her cheeks with his hands. "Felicity, you are my light, my always. How can I ever refuse you?"

He had paused to search her eyes, and he saw nothing but pure affection and tenderness and earnestness in them. So, he had boldly gone ahead and declared his undying devotion to her. "I love you. With everything that's in me. I love you."

She didn't need to say it back, and he didn't need to hear it. He had seen so much love in her eyes that the words had not mattered as much. As he had leaned down to kiss her, she had not moved away. Instead, she had met him halfway. Before they knew it, they had captured each other's lips in a most impassioned, most ardent kiss. The heat of the moment had finally brought them to the brink of intimacy, and they had taken the leap of faith into each other's arms at last. The culmination of desire had been especially set apart for them, seasoned by time, temperance, patient waiting, and mutual respect.

Oliver had picked her up and carried her to his bed, but their lips never parted until they had to shed their clothing. He and his wife had gracefully uncovered each other right before eyes, yet they had not been the least bit ashamed, for their love was pure and precious. He had lowered himself upon her, and she welcomed him and his warmth, his caresses, and the tender kisses that grazed her skin. To the rhythm and rhyme of true love's refrain their bodies had danced – soft silhouettes in the shimmering radiance of the moonlight that seeped through the white curtains and drapes that enclosed his four-poster bed.

In the afterglow that followed complete satisfaction, Oliver had embraced his wife and uttered a prayer of thanksgiving for the wonderful gift of her that he still could not believe he deserved. Then he remembered what he had wanted but forgotten to ask her earlier, because they had gotten carried away by that searing kiss.

"My love," he had ventured calling her, and she had not protested, "might I ask you one thing?"

"Anything," she had replied affectionately, turning in his embrace to face him as he rubbed circles on the arc of her back.

"Why were you jealous?" he had asked.

Felicity bit her lip and looked at him sheepishly. "Because _I_ am the wife of the handsome Lord of Starling, and those tramps had had the audacity to insult my presence. But I would have you know, kind sir, that there are two things in my life that I am now sure of – that I am your bride, and that I am totally and completely yours," she replied confidently with a touch of humor in her voice.

Oliver smiled at her as she shifted again in his embrace, anchoring her upper body to the bed with her elbows, her blue eyes alive with unspeakable mirth. "Is that all, my lovely wife?" he asked, coaxing her to say what he had been waiting for months to hear her say.

"And because I love you," she added with conviction, looking deep into his eyes, "with all my heart, body, and soul."

"I thought so," he had added, grinning from ear to ear.

After almost eight months of wooing, wondering, and waiting, Oliver and Felicity had finally made love, and they had found pleasure in each other that glorious night.

And most nights thereafter.

* * *

It was one those delightful nocturnal activities eight months ago that had brought them to this particular night in question – the night when the Lady Felicity's life hung in the balance.

Oliver read his wife's lips as she mouthed a soundless "I love you," before he let go of her hand and told her that he loved her too. He then retreated from her side and let John, Yao Fei, and Maseo do their work to save his wife's life.

And to save the precious life of their unborn child.

Oliver addressed his mother, Lyla, and the servants in the room. "Do whatever these men tell you to do, or you will answer to me," he sternly instructed. Moira nodded and proceeded to direct the women under her charge.

Felicity watched Oliver walk away – her husband, her lover. He opened the large wooden door, and after taking one last look at his wife, his friend, his Felicity, he closed the door behind him, whispering a prayer for heaven not to take his wife and child from him so soon.

* * *

 **A/N: So how was that for the second installment? If it's not too much to ask, do leave a comment or drop a line or two to let me know that you are still following this. Thanks again for reading.**


	3. Chapter 3: My King, My Queen

**The Arrow's Bride**

 **A/N: Finally, here is the last chapter of this fic. But before anything else, I'd like to apologize for the delay in completing and posting this. Arrow 5x14 & 5x15 were not exactly easy to watch, and the aftermath of having to deal with how the relationships in the story line is progressing literally took away the motivation to write. But the inspiration is back, and I'm back. I hope this will be a satisfying ending to a story that you have read, followed, reviewed, and hopefully, clicked "favorite" for. **

**I would certainly appreciate it if you take the time to leave a review, especially if you haven't already done so in the previous chapters. Do let me know what you think of this story as it comes to a close.** **Once again, a big THANK YOU for reading this story, especially the Guests who reviewed that FF doesn't let me reply to, and Keeper (who I believe has been patiently waiting for this chapter for two weeks already). Enjoy!**

* * *

 **PART 3 - My King, My Queen**

Everyone dreaded this moment.

Oliver's sister Thea despised it almost as much as she despised the day her mother told her that her brother wasn't coming back from the Crusades, and that her father's heart had suddenly and tragically given out at the news. When Thea learned from her lady-in-waiting that Lady Felicity had been brought home bleeding after she was rescued by Oliver and his men from the Rochev Manor, she had wanted to rush to her sister-in-law's chambers. But her mother, the Baroness Moira had given the servants specific and strict instructions not to let Thea out of their sight and to keep her from storming the Lady's chambers, as she and her son did not want another frantic person to be anxious about, considering the emergency at hand.

But the clever, young Queen mistress had found a way to elude the servants who were supposed to have been watching her. She would have barged into Felicity's room unannounced, had she not been unpleasantly greeted by her sister-in-law's agonizing screams and ghastly groans from behind the closed oak door. Thea's eyes had widened in horror as her trembling hands let go of the iron bars and retreated backwards in tiny, tentative steps, until her brother held her by her shoulders from behind to steady her. She had been in tears instantly, and had clung to Oliver for dear life when he embraced her.

"What on earth is wrong with her, dear Ollie? What will happen to the child?" Thea had asked. There had been four grown men in that gloomy hallway, but none of them had been able to give her a definite answer that would provide the least bit of comfort. Young Roy Harper, whom Thea had taken a unique liking for in the months prior, had taken her from her brother's arms when Oliver asked him to, and escorted her back to her room, leaving her under the charge of a maidservant.

Oliver's own mother Moira loathed this moment, too. John the Moor had immediately given orders to the servants in her presence, upon the explicit instruction of Lord Oliver (who had already stepped out of the room), and just as he had finished explaining to the baroness the procedure they were to undertake to save the Lady Felicity and her unborn child, the Queen matriarch had begun to shout at the top of her lungs for him, Yao Fei, and Maseo to get out of her house. The solution that they were proposing had been absolutely repulsive to her, and she had called it barbaric and inhuman, vehemently arguing against what the foreigners intended to do. Oliver had returned to the room to quell his mother's resistance and assuage her fears, pointing out that this was the only way to save the lives of both Queens, one of which was to be her grandchild, the heir of Starling's most noble family. That had been enough to put Moira at ease for the time being, and even to get her to cooperate with the foreigners who only meant to be of help. Within a minute, she had been the one to start barking orders at everyone in the room.

As soon as Yao Fei had brought out his needles and set his materials in place, he had drawn near to Felicity and whispered something that had somehow calmed her. But when the women in the room realized what he was about to do to their mistress, the youngest servant had fled the room frantically, having decided that watching her mistress's body punctured by multiple needles was too much for her fainting heart to bear. Two of the older maidservants did not last very long either. When John had begun to sterilize the knife to be used for the incision on their mistress, they, too, had panicked and taken leave, protesting against the brutality of what was about to take place, and begging the baroness not to force them to take part in it.

Only one other elderly female servant named Raisa had remained in the room to help. The older woman assured them of her loyalty, stating that she was as ready as Lyla and the men in the room to be of assistance, saying that any alternative to save the Lady and the child she was carrying in her womb – Oliver's son – was worth a chance. Raisa had been Oliver's own wet nurse, and she had practically raised him like a son until it was time for him to learn a young man's trade. She told the baroness that she would do anything for the future heir of the Lord of Starling.

Lyla herself had recoiled at the thought of what they were about to do, fighting back the urge to vomit when the incision was made, but for some reason, her insides had tolerated the gruesome procedure to the end. It was not only because she had witnessed in awe and wonder how a process so desperate, daring, and dangerous had been able to deliver another precious human being into this world; it was also because she had put her trust in John, the dark-skinned foreigner who had become one of her dearest and closest friends in the past year.

Truth be told, John had been the last person on earth that Lyla would have thought of befriending, what with his perplexing views of life and his bizarre ways of doing mundane tasks. But the Moorish fellow had been the kindest and gentlest of the male species that she had ever met, notwithstanding his enormous built and warrior-like qualities, so Lyla had developed a certain fondness for the stranger, despite his color and cultural oddities.

The feelings they had had been mutual, which was something that John and Lyla had tried to conceal from everyone else for fear of contempt – albeit unsuccessfully from Lord Oliver and Lady Felicity, who both could see right through the pretense and had known quite well of her and John's special relationship. Their master and mistress had not encouraged their extraordinary friendship but had not hindered it either. Lord Oliver had even told John in one of their quiet conversations that, if and when he gets the chance to be the monarch of Arrowland, he was going to see about enacting laws that would give equal rights to foreigners that had been allowed to settle in the kingdom as free men. And one such right that he secretly wanted to include in that decree (for the sake of his dear friend and brother-at-arms) was the right to intermarry with the people of his realm.

Someone else had been utterly displeased with the news of this dreadful situation. The unexpected guest had arrived at the Manor, scurrying down the hallways until he reached the Lady Felicity's chambers. Her good friend, Friar Ray, had taken his donkey as soon as one of the female servants had arrived quite hurriedly from the Manor to the abbey. The woman had reported to him that an unthinkable, diabolical act was about to take place in the Queen home. The good friar had ridden swiftly in order to try to prevent the pagan act from happening.

The moment Friary Ray had come face to face with Oliver (who had been standing guard outside his wife's room), he had begun to protest fervidly, pleading with his friend's spouse as a faithful Christian adherent to put an end to the atrocity taking place on the other side of the huge wooden door that he was being barred from entering. Oliver had stood his ground, silent and unperturbed, refusing to move away from the door or to hearken to the cleric's indignant demands.

But when the friar ignorantly and impulsively accused him of sanctioning the slaughter of his own wife, Oliver had seen red. Oliver lost control of his temper and was about to smite the naïve monk. It was a good thing that Rene, Rory, and Roy had been there to hold him back and reason with him that it would do no one any good to harm a man of the cloak. So, Oliver instead grabbed the friar by that cloak and dragged him down the hallway away from Felicity's chambers, telling his accuser that the physician had given up and that this was the only way to save the lives of his wife and his unborn child. Friar Ray had seen his sincerity and the desperation in his eyes, and after pondering on that thought with beads of sweat all over his face, the cleric had decided that the life of his friend and of the baby in her womb were worth giving the foreigners' outlandish attempt at life-saving a chance. He had given his word that none among his parishioners in Starling, including the attendants of the Queen household, would speak of what happened that night. No bishop or cardinal would hear of it. It was going to be a secret that he would carry to his grave.

Everyone who cared enough for the Lord and Lady of Starling was anxiously and restlessly waiting for good news to emerge from the old oak doors, but none was as frightened for the Arrow's bride and and child as the Arrow himself.

The Arrow's bride. That was a title that Felicity never imagined she would be bestowed with, a title she had eventually become proud of claiming for herself.

Even before the announcement of their wedding had been made by the royal herald in the castle and in every town and countryside of the realm, nobles and commoners and peasants alike had begun calling the legendary archer-warrior that had saved them all "The Arrow." After the siege and the defeat and retreat of the remnants of the barbarians, Sir Oliver, the lost-and-found knight and favored son of Starling – had become their hero. They had hailed his name wherever the tale was told of his bravery and cunning, as well as those of his men.

Every man, woman, and child had spoken of The Arrow with pride and joy; that is, everyone except Felicity. Her mother, Queen Donna, had tried to persuade her every single day from the announcement of their betrothal until the day of the wedding to change her sentiments about the man she had been promised to wed, but Felicity saw nothing in Lord Oliver but the people's champion, not hers. She had held nothing personal against the man, but everything against the predicament she had been in where there had been no way out, where she had felt powerless and insignificant and used… like a pawn.

On their wedding night, Felicity had first seen her wedded husband, The Arrow, pick up his bow and arrow. She had to admit that she'd been momentarily scared and puzzled at what he had intended to do with the weapons when they had been alone in his bedchamber, struggling with the thought that every guest down at the great hall had been expecting something else to happen between them. However, her instant groom – a mystery of a man – had not used those to harm or hurt her. Instead he had used the arrow to his own hurt; he had cut himself and presented the blood-stained sheets in order to show her how much he respected her and her dignity. Felicity had never forgotten how she had felt at that moment, how much she had appreciated that noble, gracious act, and how much she had admired him for more than his heroic feat of saving the kingdom. In fact, that night she had begun to admire The Arrow as a gentleman. For the first time in the weeks that had passed, she had reconsidered her presupposition that she would never be able to find true love since she had already been trapped in an arranged marriage.

In the first month of their marriage when they had still been living within castle walls at the explicit orders of King Malcolm, Felicity would overhear chatter among the servants and the guards about how much everybody highly regarded and esteemed The Arrow. Knights, squires, and soldiers had appreciated how Lord Oliver had reorganized them by rank and station and by the kind of service they rendered to the crown and the kingdom. They had admired his brilliance when it came to strategizing for future battle plans and to cause-oriented military service that the people would benefit from.

Ladies of the court – married or not – had always noticed his handsome face, exquisite form, and courteous demeanor, not minding at all how stern and broody the Lord of Starling had tended to be like. Felicity had become the object of every noblewoman's envy, but she hadn't known then whether to feel secretly jealous and upset over it, or to be flattered and proud of her status in life. She had admired The Arrow for his brave and noble deeds, but it hadn't meant that she had also admired her husband, or so she thought. She had gone for months without admitting it to herself that the hero in the green hood and the husband in the purple tunic were one and the same.

Yet night after night that they had spent in his chambers, bonding over their common love for sacred and secular literature and stories, music, and mind games, Felicity had gradually abandoned the initial dislike and indifference towards her husband. Day after day she had learned one new thing about the kind of man she had married, and she had seen him more and more clearly for who he truly was – an obedient son and a caring older brother, a hard-working leader with a servant's heart that looked out for the interests of the people of Starling, and a fearless fighter who ensured the safety and well-being of his constituents and worked to secure peace and order there.

Once Oliver and his archers had gone to help contain a riot among the peasants that tilled the land for the Rochevs. The rioters had claimed that they were being treated unfairly and threatened if they complained or voiced their grievances to the authorities. On another occasion (at just about the same time when Felicity had discovered his nightmares and started her furtive evening visits into his room), Oliver and his men had traveled north to ascertain rumors that barbarian spies had come down from the mountains and scaled the northern wall again. Felicity had feared for her husband's safety, but he reassured her that he would come back to her soon in one piece. She had clung to him for dear life as he tried to bid her farewell, and at the very last moment, she had let him go, but not before she planted a chaste but earnest kiss on his cheek. Not only had it been the first time she had kissed him; it had also been the first time she realized that she had already learned to care about him from her heart.

Her growing fondness and feelings had slowly turned into genuine love and care, which had gradually outweighed the misgivings she had of her lot in life. Until finally, the scale had tipped in favor of welcoming him into her life and opening her heart to the man she had wed out of submission months ago. The turning point had occurred on the night when she had first lain beside him on his bed and pressed herself against him to comfort him in the aftermath of one of the most disturbing nightmares she had witnessed him having. The slow but sure change in her attitude and feelings towards him had culminated on the night when she had first let him have her completely, body and soul, and they had truly and fully become one flesh.

The Arrow's bride had become the happiest woman on the face of the earth, for she was dearly loved and cherished by _her_ husband, _her_ hero, _her_ champion. She, in turn, had made him the happiest man on the face of the earth the day she told him a few months later that she was carrying his child, The Arrow's first progeny.

It had been a most fortuitous day.

For the past few weeks prior, Oliver had been occupied with running the affairs of the Manor by himself because the baroness and his sister had accompanied Felicity for a much-awaited visit with the Queen at the castle miles and miles away from Starling. Oliver and Felicity had been staying in Starling for more than a year already, and his wife had begun to miss her mother, so Oliver thought that the best gift he could give to his beloved on her birthday was to let her stay in the king's castle for a time. After they sent word to the castle through a messenger, the queen had sent back her greetings and extended an invitation to the Queens to come with the Lady Felicity. Moira and Thea had obliged, and Oliver had been relieved that Felicity would be surrounded by trusted companions during her vacation in the castle. He, on the other hand, opted to stay behind to attend to business in the Manor and in Starling.

About four weeks later, Felicity had surprised Oliver by her unexpected return. She had arrived in the late afternoon with her mother-in-law, sister-in-law, Lyla her maid, and their chaperons Roy and Rory (whom Oliver had sent along with a small contingent of armed men to safeguard his family on their journey and vacation). He welcomed her with open arms and a passionate kiss that told her how much he had missed her while she'd been away.

But as soon as their lips parted, she had lost her balance in a sudden dizzy spell. She had tried to break free from his embrace to run away, but he had swiftly scooped her into his arms and carried her the rest of the way into his bedchamber, where she had spent a good quarter of an hour retching and emptying the contents of her stomach into a basin that Lyla had gotten for her in a hurry. Oliver had been worried about her, supposing that she had gotten sick somehow, but she had simply told him that it was just probably her body's response to the long journey coming home, and that all she needed was some rest. He had taken her word for it and pushed away the troublesome thoughts from his mind so as not to ruin the blissful moment of his dear wife's homecoming.

Lyla had been sent to fetch Felicity more comfortable clothing, and by the time the maid had returned, the retching had ceased. After Lyla had finished assisting her mistress in washing and changing from travel clothes, she had been dismissed and instructed to serve the evening meal for Felicity in the room later.

As soon as Lyla had left the master's chambers, Oliver had removed his footwear and his tunic, got on the bed, and pulled his wife closer to him, her back against his warm chest. "I've missed you, my love… very much," he had told her sweetly. "Twas a pleasant surprise, your homecoming." He had smiled as he kissed her temple.

"I'm delighted that my surprise pleased you, my lord," Felicity had replied, laughing a bit shyly. "I, too, have missed you, terribly so. My mother didn't want to let me leave so soon. She begged for me to tarry another week, but I told her that I cannot keep the famed Arrow and esteemed Lord of Starling waiting for much longer."

"Hmm… I am pleased even more, dear Felicity," Oliver had remarked, this time sighing contentedly as his hand caressed her hip. "I'm afraid I might have died a miserable death if you had waited another week to come home to me," he added as he slid his hand up the curve of her waist and touched her front tenderly.

Felicity had let out a shy giggle at his words and gesture. Had she been facing him, he would have seen her lovely grin and the scarlet blush that shaded her face. She loved it when the fearsome Arrow that vile villains trembled at would become mawkish and maudlin in their private moments.

Oliver had wondered if it were just him or if he had been right in thinking that something about his wife's familiar bosom had changed. He would have dismissed the thought, since he hadn't been with her or touched her for a month, but her slight flinch had somehow indicated that he might have been right. He had not, however, called her attention on the matter, thinking that she might find it inappropriate or embarrassing. He had not wanted them to argue on such a trivial concern when they should be enjoying each other's company after having been apart for almost a month.

Unbeknownst to him, Felicity had already known for weeks that she was already carrying their firstborn. She hadn't recognized the signs before she had left to visit her mother, attributing the nausea and stomach trouble to something she might have eaten. A week before she and her in-laws were set to depart for the king's castle, she had had bouts of vomiting, but she had kept it from Oliver because she did not want him to cancel the trip altogether on account of her health. She had successfully kept her physical condition from her husband, but she had not been as successful in keeping it from her mother and mother-in-law. As soon as they had gotten settled in the castle's guest chambers, Moira had inquired about her health because she had mildly vomited twice along the journey. Felicity easily dismissed it, though, saying that she just really wasn't used to very long trips.

But three days into their vacation, Moira had seen and observed enough to infer that her daughter-in-law was indeed expecting a child. Instead of coming to Felicity about her suspicions a second time and risk being dismissed again, the baroness approached the queen and broached the subject, expressing concern that Felicity needed to be told of her situation so that she could be given proper care and attention. Queen Donna had been thrilled to hear of the news and had appreciated the baroness's concern and discretion. After composing herself, the queen had gone to see her daughter one night after dinner and talked her through the signs and safeguards of pregnancy.

Felicity had been flabbergasted upon discovering that she was indeed expecting their first child, unable to sleep with all the thoughts that ran wild in her brilliant brain and the mixed emotions of wonder, excitement, fear, and feelings of inadequacies that overwhelmed her heart.

It happened that on that fortuitous day of revelation, dinner had passed uneventfully for Lord Oliver. Felicity had supper in his chambers, while Oliver dined with the baroness and younger sister in the dining hall. Towards the end of the meal, he had asked his mother, "Mother, is the Lady Felicity well? I am anxious that she might have come home somewhat ill. She looks paler than usual, and she's had to relieve herself more often than usual from the time of your arrival until sundown."

"Whatever do you mean, Lord Oliver? The Lady's health was sound when we left the castle. In fact, she was in such good spirits and very much excited to see you again," had been the reply of the baroness.

"Did Raisa or Lyla not tell you how she felt dizzy and retched when she arrived?" he had asked.

"Oh, yes, they did," Moira had answered while nodding. "But there ought to be no cause for alarm. I'm sure the Lady Felicity will be back to her usual self when she gets adequate rest. It was a long and tiring journey."

"But… Do you not notice anything odd about her?" Oliver asked again, clearly unsatisfied with his mother's explanation. He had shifted his worried gaze from his mother to his sister Thea.

The baroness had flashed him the kind of smile that he had recognized as Moira Queen's favorite expression when she wants him to listen instead of panic. "My dear, dear son, your wife is a very strong young woman, inside and out. I'm sure that in the morning, she will feel much better. She will be in the best mood to tell you stories about our vacation and some wonderfully pleasant news as well." There had been something in the twinkle of his mother's eyes that he hadn't been able to decipher just yet. To avoid further scrutiny, Moira had immediately changed the subject and said, "Oh, your mother-in-law… the queen, I mean, sends their best regards. And King Malcolm asks when you can pay the castle a visit and train the newly recruited castle guards in archery."

Oliver had dropped the subject, and after a few more minutes of discussing with the baroness how he had managed the affairs of the Manor and of Starling while they were gone, he had politely taken leave to retire to his chambers and see to his wife's condition.

What greeted him upon his return was completely but delightfully unforeseen. Felicity had been waiting for him. Beautiful and breath-taking in the firelight, she had stood next to his four-poster bed in the same evening gown she had worn on their wedding night. He had recognized it because she had looked exactly like the angel that he had found to be undeniably attractive on that memorable night. She had even braided her magnificent long blonde hair in the same way. She had let her gown's neckline fall off her shoulder in a most alluring way, and she had smiled at him with desire in her eyes, beckoning him to approach her.

Oliver had slowly closed the distance between him and his beloved and said, "I see you have indeed missed your husband, my lady."

"I have, my lord," Felicity had said in response, biting her lip mischievously.

"I am glad," he had teased, reaching for her shoulder.

"I am, too," she had teased back, holding back the naughty grin that had begun to form on her face.

"Are you quite certain you are well?" he had asked, genuinely concerned about her well-being. "The last thing I want is to inconvenience my beloved."

"No worries, my love," she had reassured him in response, cupping his jaw line with her soft, tiny hand. As a crimson blush crept upon her face, she had added, "I am well. _**We**_ are well."

She had spoken those last three words with her hands folded on her abdomen, her gaze shifting from her stomach to his face. He had wondered what she meant, but only for a moment, for when her eyes locked on to his once again, he had known.

Felicity had smiled at her husband and then slowly and softly said, "I am with child, my lord. _**Your**_ child."

Those few, incredible words of good news stimulated a powerful surge of positive emotions within him, and with one final step that brought him directly in front of his wife, his lips had come crashing down on hers. And the rest of the night had been pure rapture and bliss.

But in that dreadful hour, on a day towards the end of the eighth month of her pregnancy, the Arrow's bride and child were in grave danger. There was tension in the air as the men outside the Lady Felicity's chambers awaited for news of whether or not mother and child had made it out of harm's way. There was even more tension inside the room as the foreign friends and the three women tirelessly worked together to save the lives dearest to the Lord of Starling.

Oliver and his men had found Felicity in one of the stables of the Rochev Manor. Baron Wilson had the Lady Felicity kidnapped to lure The Arrow into a trap. But thanks to the tracking skills of Oliver's loyal and clever band – the Moors, John and Curtis, in particular – that snare had been foiled. They had figured out who had taken Felicity and where she had been taken, too early in Baron Wilson's nefarious game, which was why he and his female accomplice, the Lady Isabel, had not expected The Arrow's assault on the heavily guarded Rochev premises. The masterminds of a grand yet treacherous plot to eliminate The Arrow, to murder the king, and to take over the kingdom had been discovered and cornered in the Lady Isabel's very own property. Their minions had been equalized and subdued by The Arrow's smaller but more skilled group of archer-warriors.

By the time they had found Felicity, Baron Wilson had been holding onto her in a death grip with a dagger at her throat, and the Lady Isabel right by his side. It had taken a mere distraction provided by John the Moor (who had spooked the horses in the stable) for Oliver to shoot three successive arrows into the chest of the brazenly maleficent baron, who had fallen backwards into a manger full of moldy clay. Lady Isabel had ducked to avoid the arrow that Oliver had shot, aiming at her. She had poised herself to run and escape through the nearest egress when Felicity had flung herself at her suddenly, tackling the female fiend to the hay-covered ground and pinning her down.

The villains had been vanquished, but the Arrow's bride had been injured in the process. The strain and anxieties surrounding her abduction, as well as the bad fall when she tackled the Lady Rochev, had induced premature labor, and she had begun to bleed. That had become the greatest threat at the moment.

Oliver and his men had successfully brought her back to the Queen Manor, but after the first few hours of labor, it had become obvious that the baby was in distress, somehow refusing to descend from her womb. The minutes and hours had passed, and Felicity cried out in pain and anguish as the contractions came more and more frequently. She had become exhausted in the process, and the women in the room feared that by the time the baby would begin to descend eventually, if at all, she would be too weak and worn-out to push the baby out even with their assistance.

John had arrived with Yao Fei and Maseo just in time.

While Felicity was fighting for her life and her child's under the knife of the Moor and the needles of the men from the East, Sheriff Malone arrived at the Queen Manor and asked to speak with Lord Oliver about an urgent matter. The Sheriff had spend the past few hours interrogating the Lady Rochev and had wanted to report to Lord Oliver what he had uncovered from the wily woman's forced confession.

It was revealed that King Malcolm, who in the last month had been mysteriously murdered by what the royal physician had suspected was poisoning, had played a major part in the extensive, systematic scheme of deception and betrayal to dominate Arrowland apart from the High Council, and eventually, all the other kingdoms West of the Great Lake. He and Lord Wilson had originally connived together with the Lady Isabel to invade the neighboring kingdoms and take control of the known Western world while most of the gallant and able knights were on the Crusades fighting the war against the Muslims.

The king had anticipated that the greatest threat to the successful realization of their plan was the Baron of Starling and his son, Sir Oliver, whom the king knew to be just, dignified leaders that would most likely oppose their malevolent dream of world domination. To eradicate such a threat, King Malcolm and Lord Wilson had plotted Sir Oliver's ambush in the hands of the Moors in Palestine and Baron Robert's subsequent assassination, which had been no longer necessary because Baron Robert's heart had failed upon receiving the devastating news about his son's untimely demise. Consequently, Lord Wilson had been elevated to the rank of Baron of Starling, further solidifying and strengthening their clout over the weakened High Council of the realm.

Everything had been going according to plan for King Malcolm and the Baron Wilson for quite some time. For the entire time that Sir Oliver had been away and had gotten involved in the League of Assassins, the king himself had hired mercenaries from among the mountain people to assassinate anyone in the Council that would oppose the king and the baron's schemes when they were found out. What King Malcolm and Baron Wilson had not expected was the treachery of the barbaric mountain people led by the diabolical Damian Darkh. The barbarians had turned against them and attacked the kingdom viciously upon the prompting of the hired mercenaries who had told Darkh of the impending collapse of Arrowland's disunited leadership. The barbarians had taken advantage of this weakness and the absence of most of the kingdom's knights, and had attacked when the element of surprise had been in their favor.

Another unexpected turn of events that complicated matters for the king and his accomplices was the unforeseen and astonishing return of Sir Oliver as the green-hooded Arrow and leader of a group of cunning archer-warriors. He and his men had been the ones that answered the king's call to return hastily to Arrowland and save its people from certain destruction when the castle-fort had been under siege. By sheer cunning and skill, Oliver and his men had crushed the barbarians, killed their arrogant leader, and driven back the remnants of their enemies to the mountains where they belonged.

Even more unexpected was the accolade that Sir Oliver had earned as The Arrow among the people of the land. The people had loved him and cheered him on, forcing King Malcolm to reward him substantially with honor and prestige in order to conceal their deceitful plot and to chase clouds of doubt and suspicion far away from the king and the Baron of Starling. The Arrow had become untouchable, and King Malcolm did not know how to proceed as planned with this irksome, infuriating complication getting in their way. As soon as the newlywed Queens had gone home to Starling a month after the wedding, King Malcolm, Baron Wilson, and Lady Isabel had resumed their plotting, drafting alternative and contingent plans to further their quest for power.

Their plans, however, could not materialize smoothly with the green-hooded hero hindering their every step. Lord Oliver and his men had thwarted, albeit unawares, the traitors' attempts of setting their contingent plans in motion. The archers had simply thought they were helping to keep the peace in Starling and sometimes even in the neighboring territories. They would assist the authorities in apprehending what they had previously considered to be random criminals, not knowing that those had really been Baron Wilson's spies and puppets in a larger, more evil plan. They would help contain riots and disband protests of peasants against the lords and barons across the land, not knowing that those had been instigated by pawns planted by either Baron Wilson or Lady Isabel to destabilize the areas that were under the control of the nobles that were likely to be less sympathetic to their agenda. Once they had even rescued the Baron of Bloodhaven, one such member of the Council, from abduction; they had saved the man from an assassin's blade just in time.

Soon, Baron Wilson and Lady Isabel had begun secretly blaming King Malcolm for the nuisance that The Arrow and his men had turned out to be, becoming more and more impatient of the king's slow-but-sure strategy for dealing with this frustrating annoyance. The baron and his lady had begun to see the king as more of a hindrance to their wicked aspirations rather than an ally, just like The Arrow. Together, they had plotted the murder of King Malcolm, which had been successfully carried out by the king's cupbearer, whom they had paid a gorgeous sum in silver and who had disappeared even before the king's cold, lifeless body had been discovered by the queen in the royal chambers. Deciding to strike while the iron was hot, the traitorous tandem had proceeded to target the Arrow and eliminate him, by going after the most important person in his life – his wife.

All of these had brought the Arrow and his bride to this very moment. The darkness in the hearts of his enemies had brought them to the brink of tragic loss and separation, but the light of their love was the only thing that kept them holding on to hope.

Oliver was lost in thought at the end of the dimly-lit hallway. He did not even notice the faint cries of a baby boy from inside the room, or the creaking of the large oak door when his mother stepped out of the room minutes after. Curtis, the other Moor, walked up to him, placed a hand on his shoulder, and told him that the baroness wanted to speak to him. When he turned around, the first thing he looked at were his mother's eyes.

Moira's eyes were drowning in tears. And if Oliver was not paying full attention to the nuances in the expression of her eyes, he would have missed it or misinterpreted it. His knees would have buckled, and his legs would have given way in shock and grief. But when the first tear fell and rolled down his mother's cheek, he realized that what filled her eyes were tears of joy.

Moira smiled and uttered with a restrained jubilance, "Oliver Queen, Lord of Starling, it is my humble, joyful privilege to let you know that you have a son!" She was about to break down in sobs when Oliver walked briskly towards her, catching his mother before she slumped down to the ground due to physical and emotional fatigue.

"And Felicity?" he asked Moira.

"She's… she's alive, Oliver," Moira replied, shaking her head in disbelief. "I don't know how or why, but she's… she's alive!"

Oliver closed his eyes and heaved a sigh of relief, thanking the God that he served and made sacrifices in life for that his wife and child had made it through. "May I go inside and see them?"

"Yes, yes! You may enter to see your wife in a while. Give it another half hour," his mother answered, her voice halfway between crying and laughing. "The Moor is still closing up the incision. Felicity did not feel any pain and is still unconscious, thanks to those needles. Lyla and Raisa are attending to your son. I am going to go tell Thea the wonderful news."

After giving her son a warm hug, the baroness took leave and headed straight to her daughter's chambers.

It did not take long before Lyla emerged from her mistress's room, holding Oliver's son in her arms. Lyla transferred the infant into the robust arms of his father, saying, "Behold your son, my lord."

Oliver stared down at his son's little face and whispered, also with restrained jubilance, "Oh, my beautiful boy!" He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on the crown of his son's tiny, bald head. He cradled the babe in his arms and lulled him to sleep.

After a few minutes alone with the infant in his arms, he brought his son to his friends, beaming like every proud, first-time father. The archers crowded around him and his firstborn son. They all congratulated him and expressed their best wishes for his young family. After thanking them, Oliver solemnly announced, "His name shall be Robert Thomas, heir of the Lord of Starling and of the noble house of the Queens."

"Two names?" Rene asked, curious as to why their leader opted to bless his son as such.

"He deserves twice the honor," Oliver responded, "just as my father and my best friend deserve it. Their legacy and mine will live on through my son."

The men did not notice how long they had been admiring the little child in their mentor's arms until Lyla emerged from the Lady's room the second time and told Lord Oliver that he may now see his wife if he wanted to. Lyla then took the baby from him and followed him into the room.

John tucked Felicity's legs under the woolen blanket of the freshly changed bed as Oliver entered the room. The Moor was pleased that they had been able to finish cleaning everything and changing her by the time Oliver stepped into the room.

"How is she?" Oliver asked his friend. He placed a chaste kiss on his wife's forehead as he stroked her blonde hair that was still moist with sweat.

"Your lovely bride is a fighter, just like you," John replied with a smile. His white teeth sparkled against the background of his dark skin.

"She won't wake for as long as the needles are in place. It's best she stays this way for a while longer, so that she doesn't feel any pain," Yao Fei explained.

Maseo added, "The herbs we placed on her wound… those will help it heal faster and safer. They are not exactly like the medicinal herbs we used back home, but Lyla assured us that here, nobles and peasants alike commonly use them for such purposes. When the wound begins to dry up, use the healing balm that I gave Lyla on it. And make sure she is properly nourished."

"We've already instructed Lyla and Raisa how to clean the wound, apply the herbs, and dress the wound with clean bandages daily," John said further. "But if you want Yao Fei and Maseo to stay longer-"

"Yes, of course, I would," Oliver cut him off with affirmative enthusiasm. "Your presence here is in my wife's best interests. I would rather have you stay while she convalesces. In fact, you are both welcome to remain in the Manor until the banquet I intend to host in celebration of the birth of my firstborn," he said cheerfully as he looked at Yao Fei and Maseo with gratitude shining in his eyes.

"Thank you. Thank you, all of you. Words will never be enough to express how grateful I am for what you have done for my family." This time, he scanned the room and nodded at each person directly responsible for keeping his wife alive and for bringing his son into the world – John, Yao Fei, Maseo, Lyla, and Raisa.

Oliver then turned to John and inquired, "When will Yao Fei wake her up?"

"Soon," John answered. The answer to his question was brief, and Oliver would have asked for more, but he resigned himself to trusting his friend's wisdom for now.

"Her wound?" Oliver asked again, noticing the fresh blood that seeped into the bandages underneath his wife's evening clothes.

"The incision was shorter than a handspan," John answered. Oliver cringed a little at the thought of what his wife had gone through. A handspan was a significant length for a wound that deep, and with the size of John's hand… He did not even want to think about it. He knew it was a miracle that she had survived.

He turned to look at his wife's sleeping form. He sighed in admiration of her courage. She had been the woman of strength behind the hero that he had become, supporting his noble and brave efforts as Lord of Starling and as The Arrow. She had risked her life to prevent a traitor from escaping. She had not given up despite the pain and agony of a premature childbirth.

"I had only seen this done with horses where I come from," John added, drawing his attention again as he considered the risk that they all had taken. "I did my best, but I'm afraid that under the circumstances… the scar will not be pretty."

Oliver's eyes narrowed for a moment, and then there was calmness on his face. "It doesn't matter. She's alive. Thanks to you."

John simply smiled.

Oliver placed his hand on his shoulder. "John, I am setting you free from the life debt you owe me. Because of what you have done for me and my family, you and I are now equals. Claim your rights as a free man in the kingdom of Arrowland, my brother."

Pairs of brown and blue eyes lock onto each other in resolute solemnity. Their friendship and brotherhood were sealed for life as John gripped Oliver's wrist and nodded.

Epilogue:

The latch on the door of the adjoining royal bedchambers clicked open, but Felicity was much too absorbed in thought to notice that Oliver had just entered her room. There she stood in front of a large looking glass, staring at her scar and tracing it with her fingers, even though she could barely see it with just the faint flow of the fireplace nearby.

It had only been a year and a day since their son Robert Thomas was born, about six months since the High Council had taken a vote and unanimously selected the Lord of Starling as the late King Malcolm's successor, and about four months since he was conferred the title and crown of King. Lady Felicity had also been crowned his queen, receiving the title that her mother had enjoyed for only a few years and had passed on to her with so much pride and mirth.

Oliver had set the affairs of the Queen Manor and of Starling in order in two months that followed his coronation, and then he had taken his queen and their infant prince with him to the castle in order to rule the realm from there. It had taken the new monarch and his young family two months to get settled and accustomed to the ways of royalty, yet they still felt that they had only begun to scratch the surface of the intricacies of politics, as well as the social graces expected of them as the noblest ruling family in the land.

There had been a banquet at the castle earlier that evening to celebrate the first natal day of the little prince. Felicity had taken leave early, courteously excusing herself from the presence of the king, his court, and his guests in order to nurse their son in her chambers. She had fed his hungry mouth with both her breasts as she softly hummed his favorite minstrel tune. When the year-old child had finally been filled, he had fallen asleep in her arms on her lap. She had laid him in his basinet and tucked him under his delicate, wool blanket. She hadn't bothered to change back to her banquet clothes and to ask Lyla to watch the child so that she might rejoin the feasting throng in the great hall, for she was much too tired from the day's festivities and had wanted to rest.

Felicity had felt stronger and stronger as the days went by. A month after giving birth, the wound on her belly had healed surprisingly well on the surface, but John had advised the couple that she should refrain from strenuous activities because it took longer for such a wound to heal on the inside. She had tried to abide by the advice as best she could. Oliver had become especially more protective of her since, to the point that they had, on more than a couple of occasions, argued vehemently over what she was permitted and not permitted to do.

Way back on the night of his son's miraculous birth, Oliver had obtained a wet nurse for the infant, worrying that his wife's body might not be strong enough to nurse and care for their son as she should. But as soon as Felicity had been strong enough to get up from bed and walk (which had been only a day and a half after she had regained consciousness), she had demanded that she be allowed to personally nurse her son and attend to his needs. At the onset, Oliver had refused. But upon her insistence, he had patiently listened to her tirade of frustration – a phrase at a time in between her sobs. His mother and Lyla had both warned him that it was futile to argue with an over-emotional, physically drained mother who had just given birth, for such, they had said, was the natural way with women. It had not taken long before he caved in and relented from some of his prohibitions, assuring his wife of his love and understanding as he held her in his tender embrace and told her that he had already instructed Lyla and the wet nurse to bring her their son.

In the days that followed, the wet nurse, who also had knowledge of midwifery, had coached the novice yet eagerly determined mother on how to have her baby latch onto her breasts and suck effortlessly. Oliver's admiration and appreciation for his young wife increased tenfold as he watched her persevere in the simple, mundane task of nursing their son – a task that had been twice as hard to do for a first-time mother that was recuperating from a serious wound on her stomach about a handspan in length. He watched her rise from bed each and every time their son cried for his mother to feed him, no matter how much her wound or her nipples hurt. He watched her wince each time the infant sucking on her breast squirmed in her arms against her bosom, silently allowing a tear or two to fall as an indication of the pain radiating from her belly, instead of outwardly or verbally complaining about it – a feat, which had been commendable for someone like the garrulous daughter of the Lady Donna Smoak. In time, Felicity had gotten used to breastfeeding, and her wound had slowly healed.

Truth be told, she had not yet regained her strength and vigor completely, and she feared that her body might never be able to go back to the way things were, prior to her very near brush with death on the night she was rescued in the Rochev Manor – the same night she had given birth to her son with the help of their foreign friends. She had missed riding her steed and joining her husband on his routine rounds around Starling, and more so when they had moved to the castle permanently and there had been no need for her to accompany him in his daily duties as there were ministers for every form of service in the kingdom. Felicity thus contented herself with their sunrise and sunset walks in the moat gardens, counting on her husband's promise that as soon as their son was weaned, the king would once more grant his queen a more active role in their partnership, which now meant managing the castle and ruling the kingdom.

What Felicity had missed most were their intimate nocturnal activities. It had been more than three months since childbirth, but Oliver had neither invited her to come into his bedchamber nor visited her at night to seek the warmth of her company, and since she had been too timid to inquire of him about the matter, she had suffered in lonely silence. Every night he would come in to see her before he retired to his chambers, but they had not shared anything beyond good-night kisses, gentle caresses, and tender cuddling that she had wished would lead to something more pleasurable.

Two more months had passed. When she could no longer take another day of intimacy deprivation, she had brazenly defied culture and custom, unlatched the adjoining door in nothing but the most seductive evening gown she could find in her wardrobe, and presented herself to her husband, much to his astonishment. Ironically, Oliver had almost spurned her irresistible offer if she had not assured and reassured him that she had completely recovered physically from her wounds and confessed how much she had missed being with him. After a very passionate time of coming together as man and wife for the first time since childbirth, Oliver too had bared his heart and confessed how much he had missed being with her, how he had been anxious about when she would be ready for intimacy again, and how much he feared he might hurt her in the process. They had laughed at their foolishness and promised each other never again to keep such secrets that only kept them from each other unnecessarily. Their moment had been soon interrupted by the cries of their son calling for his mother, so Oliver had helped her put on her evening gown and carried his lovely wife back to the other room where their son waited impatiently for his hunger to be filled.

Felicity had been lost in quiet reminiscences as she stood in front of the looking glass. Oliver crept up from behind her and then enveloped her in his robust yet gentle arms, planting a kiss on the exposed skin on the side of her neck.

"I know what you are thinking," he ventured a guess. He placed his right hand on hers, the fingers of which had been tracing up and down the scar on her lower abdomen. "How many times have I told you that it is not at all hideous, my love?" he asked in reference to her scar.

She looked up at the reflection of his face on the looking glass and smiled affectionately at him. "Too many times, I'm afraid," she replied. "But this time, I was not thinking about how hideous or horrid it is. Thanks to you, those brooding days are gone." She turned her head as he lowered his, and they met each other's lips for a sweet kiss.

"I would have you know that I was actually pondering quite differently about it when you came. I think I have come to accept it as part of me now, part of us – you, me, and our son. Now, we both have scars, yet another reason for us to bond more deeply," she explained further.

"That… is wonderful to hear, my lovely queen," he remarked, squeezing her gently in his arms and nuzzling his face in the crook between her neck and shoulder. She couldn't help but smile as the fine hairs of his stubble tickled her skin.

Felicity held on to both his arms wrapped around her, allowing him to sway them both from side to side even if the soothing melody they were dancing to was only in their heads.

"Indeed, my handsome king," she responded. "I have come to realize that the scar I shall bear for the rest of my life is a mark, not just of pain and suffering, but also of life – the life that we have come to share together, the life of our beautiful boy, and the countless lives that we have helped to save when we risked laying down our lives to see justice done. I know now that my scar is a testament of courage and hope."

Oliver nodded, digging his chin mildly into her shoulder three times. He felt as if his heart was about to burst with unspeakable joy and esteem for the woman who had brought light back into his life, the woman who had borne him a son at the threat of losing her own life.

Felicity loosened his hold on her and turned to face him. She brought both her hands up to his face and cupped his cheeks in them. Her eyes gleamed, as did his, and nothing in the heavens above or on the earth beneath would have been able to break their loving gaze apart.

"You are the love of my life. You believe that, do you not?" Oliver asked.

Felicity simply bit her lip and nodded in affirmation. Then, she spoke the words that sealed that night and led to the conception of another royal heir in the Queen bloodline.

"My lord and my king, without the shadow of a doubt in my mind and heart, you… are my one true love. And I shall bear my scar in honor of our love and partnership for as long as I live, for it has become – and will always be – the pride of the Arrow's bride."

THE END

* * *

 **A/N: There you have it! I hope you enjoyed the story of The Arrow's Bride. I wanted it to be a medieval romantic drama for Olicity, but I also wanted for it to have an interesting action plot and back story. Plus I tried to incorporate as much of the characters as the story line will allow me to. I hope that the flashbacks within flashbacks weren't too confusing or complicated to follow. I really didn't intend for the story to go plainly chronological, so I thought of messing with the timeline somehow to give the storytelling a novel twist.**

 **To those of you who may have wondered how I came up with the idea of putting Felicity through CS in the medieval times when such kind of medical procedure had been unheard of in the western world yet, here is the explanation. The movie "Robin Hood - Prince of Thieves" starring Kevin Costner that was released sometime in the 1990s, and it has been one of my favorite versions of the legendary tale (the other being the recent one that starred Russell Crowe). In that movie, the wife of Little John (if I recall correctly) had difficulty in childbirth, and Robin of Loxly's Moorish companion (played by Morgan Freeman) had offered to save the woman's life by doing something that "he had only ever seen done on horses." I distinctly remember the scene, and it came to me while plotting the story line for this fic. It's a good thing Arrow has some African American characters that I was able to maximize for this to work.**

 **As for how Felicity had been made to survive the pain of a CS without proper anesthesia available back in those days, I got the idea of using acupuncture to keep her unconscious and numb to any kind of pain from a Korean drama series that I followed some years ago titled "Jewel in the Palace." That drama series featured the legendary story of an intelligent and humble Korean young woman who rose from the ranks of the royal kitchen to become a female doctor back in the days of the ruling emperors and dynasties of Korea. In the finale episode of the series, the female doctor tried to save a woman in a cave that was having difficulty giving birth by performing what can easily be inferred as a major surgery such as CS with only acupuncture to help with the pain - something that she had already started to consider and study as a medical possibility ever since she had helped save the life of the empress in childbirth. To save that woman's life, she had bravely gone ahead with the procedure. It's a good thing Arrow has had some East Asian characters that I could work with.**

 **Thanks again for clicking on this story!**


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